


Welcome to the Loser Track

by zagenta



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Sky High (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 2000s, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - based on a movie, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Plot with Romance, Sky High AU, teen losers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zagenta/pseuds/zagenta
Summary: Richie's weirdly beautiful, Eddie decides. Unassuming at first glance—he always has been, what with his garish print button-ups, thick-lensed glasses, and classic tall-person slouch—but beautiful. Maybe in the day-to-day as well, but especially when he glows.No,literallyglows.Reddie Sky High AU — (basically High School AU + Superpowers AU) Richie glows, Eddie turns into a guinea pig.—“P-P-Power placement?” asks Bill.Mike folds his arms. “Sounds Fascist.”"Power placement.” Stan sounds perplexed. With a legacy superhero family like that, Big Bill ought to know these things, after all. “It’s how they decide where you’ll go.”Bill still has this mystified look on his face, so Eddie spells it out for him.“The hero track or loser track,” says Eddie, and he tries to keep the bitterness from his tone. He’s too bummed to even really track that there might be something he knows that the famous Big Bill Denbrough doesn’t.Because between the hero track and the loser track, Eddie knows exactly where he belongs.“Th-There’s a loser track?” asks Bill.“I believe the preferred term is ‘hero support’,” says Stan, humorless as expected.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh - Relationship, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon - Relationship
Comments: 68
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1: Welcome to Your Life, There's No Turning Back

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see what happens when you try to mesh the irreverent, goofy tone of Sky High and the grimdark realities of 80s bigotry! Surely nothing will go wrong!
> 
> I'd like to say this is a pretty faithful AU, but it's not a perfect translation of Sky High. I kept a lot of the dialogue relatively intact (why mess with perfection) but its more of a crossover of premises than it is the exact same story.
> 
> I tried to maintain the spirit of the Losers while incorporating a bit of their closest inspiration character, so if you're wondering why Mike is so crunchy-granola & Beverly needs an attitude adjustment, blame Layla and Warren Peace.

Eddie Kaspbrak gets his first real good laugh of the day after the world's worst power placement, which is comforting because for most of the morning the knots in his stomach are enough to convince him that he's gonna be sick. The bus ride—sorry, _flight_ —through the sky certainly didn't do much to help. So entering the gym with the other scared freshman, he's starting to feel light-headed. He's itching to grab his aspirator, but he doesn't. Not yet.

He'd first spotted the kid who managed to wrangle his first chuckle of the day on the bus, sitting by himself. All neon, all garish in a colorful patterned button-up, staring out the window like he was waiting for someone. There was something bright about him—something inviting and open. Joyous. Game for a laugh.

While his interest had been piqued, Eddie had chickened out at the last minute, opting to sit instead next to an old friend, Stanley Uris. Eddie's been trained not to take risks. Of course, the kid ends up sat next to the Big Bill Denbrough. Just Eddie's luck. He'd kill for a chance to meet Big Bill—son of the Commander and Jetstream.

But the way the two boys handshake before he pulls Bill into a hug, tells Eddie that they're already friends.

Glossing over the absolute terror that is the bus ride through the sky, on-site, Eddie can already tell the school is his mother's worst nightmare and Eddie's dream come true.

He has to do a double-take when he realizes the cheer team performing their routine is actually just one person—a girl in pigtails and oddly nice, sun-tanned shoulders. Kids fly to school through booster rockets in their feet. Two douchebags harassing a girl get literally frozen in place just as they're walking past.

It was a miracle at all Eddie had managed to convince his mom to let him go to Sky High. She'd barely conceded to letting him take a public bus.

His mother—she'd tried to persuade him otherwise. She'd said keeping him from that world was for his own good, that it was too dangerous. He was too small, too fragile to ever be a superhero. And what with his power, he suddenly felt very small and lost, a part of him felt compelled to admit for the first time that maybe she was—

 _No_.

He deserved to be there, just the same as everyone else.

The bright-eyed, bushy-tailed freshman file into the school gym with nervous anticipation. To their great surprise their _principal_ flies in like a comet through the sky, receiving a lot of _whoa_ s of admiration. Principal Powers greets them and explains they're to be put into power placement before they can start their classes.

"P-P-Power placement?" asks Bill.

The Black boy in green standing next to him folds his arms. "Sounds Fascist."

Eddie's mother had been kept woefully in the dark about this whole "power placement" process, saying it was for his own good. Thankfully, Stan had filled him in on as much as he knew. Stan was a good friend, Eddie was never afraid to be the one kid without a clue when he was with him.

But Stan wasn't the kind of person who pulled punches.

According to Stan, you're one of two things: a hero or a sidekick.

Ever since he got his own power, Stan's known he was destined to be a sidekick. He's faced his fate with dejected resignation ever since. And when Eddie got his power a few months later—while Stan wouldn't say it to Eddie's face—he knew Eddie was gonna be right there with him.

"Power placement." Stan's voice as he explains to Big Bill brings Eddie back to the present. He sounds perplexed, which is very Stan of him—to assume someone like Big Bill ought to know this information. Someone from that family _ought_ to know these things, after all. "It's how they decide where you'll go."

Bill still has this mystified look on his face, so Eddie spells it out for him.

"The hero track or _loser_ track," says Eddie, and he tries to keep the bitterness from his tone. He's too bummed to even really track that there might be something he knows that the famous Big Bill Denbrough doesn't.

Because between the hero track and the loser track, Eddie knows exactly where he's ending up.

"Th-There's a loser track?" asks Bill.

"I believe the preferred term is 'hero support'," says Stan, humorless. He's expressed his distaste for the Hero-Sidekick dichotomy and his problem with the power placement process to Eddie plenty of times, but at the end of the day, what could either of them do about it? They were just kids.

The principal flies out of the gym shooting star style, leaving the students behind. Turning to watch her leave, they spot a man in gym shorts and sunglasses, holding a clipboard, scowling down at them from a platform that is rising off the ground.

"My name is Coach Bowers," says the man. "You may know me as 'Sonic Boom', 'Boomer' and 'Butch'. You may not."

The tall boy in glasses besides Big Bill snickers.

"I don't care what you call me, but you must address me as 'coach' at all times. Are we clear?"

A weak grumble of agreement ripples through the student.

"I said. Are. We. _Clear_?" bellows Coach Boomer, and it becomes abundantly clear how the man got his nickname because the gust from his yell is forceful enough to nearly knock the entire class off their feet.

"Yes, Coach Boomer!" the class replies in unison this time, obedient and fearful.

Satisfied, he explains the power placement process, calling students up one by one to test their powers in front of the entire class.

A small boy in glasses steps up first.

"I hate this." It's the boy in green. His voice is low, words probably only meant for Bill, but Eddie is standing so close. He doesn't mean to overhear. "What's humiliating him in front of the entire class going to accomplish? This is so unfair."

But Bill's eyes are on the kid as he trudges up the stepladder and onto the platform. "If life were t-to s-suddenly get fair, I doubt it would happen in high school."

Eddie doesn't say anything, but he silently agrees.

Turns out, they have nothing to worry about because Little Larry is actually a two-ton rock monster strong enough to carry a car on his shoulders. So turns out, Little Larry is actually Big Larry. Turns out, Larry is a hero.

"So he's good?" The tall boy that had previously caught Eddie's eye taps Bill in the chest. "Well, I'm better."

Big Bill makes a grab for his friend's arm, but it's no use, he's already up the steps.

Anyway, this kid who is apparently friends with Big Bill is not the least bit intimidated by anything. Not their shooting star principle, or the coach with a bellow like a literal sonic boom, or the kid who transforms into a two-ton rock monster. He's fucking fearless, standing on that stage in front of everyone without a single fuck to give—which makes Eddie wanna shrivel up right there because Eddie has always been the opposite of fearless.

"Did I say you were next?" says the coach.

"Name's Richie, Coach Boomer. Fair warning, but this'll probably blow your mind, so try not to drop your clipboard."

Eddie can't help it. He laughs.

Maybe it was just the confidence of it all, the sheer not-giving-a-fuck attitude that just appealed to him. For just a moment he forgets to be terrified of his future, caught in a moment of weakness and admiration.

This kid, Richie, turns his head in the sound of the noise, meeting Eddie's eyes. Eddie can feel himself go red.

Distractions out of the way, it is now Richie's turn. So this kid hypes himself up a long time before clapping his hands together, opening his arms up like he's waiting for some sort of standing ovation.

Nothing happens.

"Any day now, superstar," says Boomer.

"I'm doing it."

"Doing what?"

"I'm _glowing_."

Eddie squints, as if maybe if he looks a little closer, he might find what the guy on about. He's not sure why, but something in him really wants to believe this kid.

"I don't think so," says Boomer, walking a half-circle around him as he stares. Begrudged to admit it, Eddie agrees. He can't see much of anything.

"Yeah, it's 'cause we're in broad daylight!" says Richie. "Turn the lights off, I'm sure you'll see what I—"

"Sidekick."

Richie opens his mouth, then closes it again. He protests getting all up in the coach's face. "Are you kidding? You haven't even seen what I can do! This is so—" Richie stops, takes a step back, putting his hands up in what appears to be a surrender, but—"You know what? My bad. Maybe if you took off your sunglasses, that might help. I’m sure you think they look cool, but they’re a little overkill." A ripple of giggles goes through the crowd, and Eddie can tell that Boomer is pissed. "Maybe don't wear them indoors next time? Then you might actually be able to see. This is such bull—"

" _Sidekick_!" bellows Boomer, loud and powerful enough to knock the boy right off the platform.

People laugh at Richie's quips, but they laugh even harder when he's knocked to the ground with a loud thud. Bill rushes to his side, helping him to his feet. They're too far away for Eddie to hear their hushed voices, but from Bill's expression, he can tell he's concerned. Richie when he responds just shakes his head and laughs.

But when Eddie looks back at the platform, he notices that Boomer takes his sunglasses off, and they remain off for the rest of the morning.

"You, front and center." He points to Stan, who looks positively mortified as he trudges up the steps.

Only now is it just occurring to Eddie that he's never actually seen Stan's power. Oh, he's tried to ask Stan about it, but as far as powers were concerned, Stan had nothing to show for it until this year’s spring. Even from that point onward, his answers had always been the same. Short. To the point. Not very descriptive. He'd been very tight-lipped about the whole thing.

Stan melts into a puddle of orange goo.

Boomer crouches over him. "Say, that's pretty impressive." The puddle of goo bubbles. "For a _popsicle_. Sidekick!" He gives Stan a thumbs down, and Stan transforms back and hurries off the platform as quickly as possible, sour expression on his face.

Eddie’s about to console Stan when Boomer points to him. "Fanny Pack, let's go."

 _Fuck_.

Reluctantly, acutely aware of everyone's eyes on him, Eddie steps up to the platform, dragging his feet all the while.

"You got a name, Fanny Pack?"

Eddie huffs in irritation. He usually hates nicknames, especially bad, patronizing ones. "Edward Kaspbrak."

"What's your schtick?" says Boomer, sounding bored as hell.

"I'm a shapeshifter," says Eddie shortly, one hand on his hip. He just leaves it at that. The class will see what it is soon enough, and he hates explaining his ability to others.

"Ok. Shift it." He taps his clipboard with his pen, waiting for Eddie expectantly.

Eddie rolls his eyes but does as he's told.

Boomer looks down at him and squints from what feels like 700 feet in the air.

"A guinea pig?" asks Boomer.

A few of the kids giggle.

He can hear it in the coach's voice—the disappointment he already knew was coming. This, right here, this look the coach is giving him is exactly why he doesn't like to tell people about his power. When people hear "shapeshifter", they tended to picture something badass, and Eddie preferred to keep it that way. He tended to like the version of himself they pictured—he was stronger, more powerful, more capable. It was fun to pretend to be that version of himself, if only for a little while.

It wasn't exactly an ego boost once people realized "shapeshifter" actually meant "rodent with anxiety".

"Yep," says Eddie dryly, his voice squeaky and high-pitched. (He doesn't know how he's still able to talk in this form, but he's found it pointless to question. It's the smallest of perks considering everything else about his power is the short end of the stick.)

But he's had enough time to be at peace with what he is.

He's a fucking guinea pig.

"Not even, like, a thousand guinea pigs?"

Eddie bites back the desire to scoff. "Uh, no."

"Sidekick."

And there it is. Boomer doesn't actually bellow the word at him like he's expecting, but that only makes it worse.

He's been bracing himself for this moment for several months now, but it's still a disappointment.

 _Sidekick_.

_Hero Support._

_Loser Track._

Whatever people wanted to call it, Eddie Kaspbrak was not going to be a hero.

He can already hear the cloying voice of his mother in his head. _If you go to that school, Eddie-Bear, you're going to regret it. Stay with me, instead. Mommy is only looking out for you._

He's tried to picture this moment with no success. But whatever image he'd conjured up in his head, this is definitely miles off from what few expectations he did have.

Eddie’s not sure how this moment should feel. He expects it to feel important, defining. Instead, it feels like any other day—and it certainly doesn't feel like a decision has been made that will shape his entire future.

Instead, it just feels like he's being talked down to by a man in gym shorts in front of the entire freshman class.

The baby voice the coach puts on as he says it is humiliating enough, but then he hand-waves Eddie off the stage, and that really puts him over the edge.

"Now, shoo."

Eddie scampers away, but not before squeaking out, "Bite me," and he hears gasps among students.

He transforms back into his human self and does his best to disappear into the crowd of kids while they're all distracted by the next power placement test. He's pretty content to remain under the radar for the rest of the placement tests, but he does catch a glimpse of the tall boy in glasses—Richie, as he introduced himself—staring at him with intrigue from over Bill's shoulder for just a moment. Their eyes meet, and Richie grins at him.

There's a girl who can transform into a rubber ball, a boy with six arms, a carbon-copy kid.

"You, Flower Child. Let's go." Boomer points to the boy in green and snaps, gesturing for him to get up on the stage, but the boy stays where he is.

"I believe in only using my powers when the situation demands it," he says.

"Well, you're in luck," says Boomer. "This is the situation, and I'm demanding it."

The boy frowns. He doesn't budge. "But to participate in this test would be to support a flawed system. I think the whole hero-sidekick dichotomy only serves to—"

Boomer holds up a hand to stop him. "Let me get this straight. Are you refusing to show me your power?"

"Well, it's more complicated than that, I mean—"

"Sidekick!" says Boomer with enough force for the gust of air to blow everyone's hair back.

The bell rings as their saving grace, and Boomer puts a hold on things, starting with Bill first thing as soon as they return.

—

"This is so fucked," says Richie loudly as soon as they've gotten their lunch trays. "That was a total bust. You know what? Someday, it'll be dark, and Boomer will be all alone walking to his car, he'll drop his keys, and I won't glow to help him find 'em."

Eddie laughs—and that makes it twice in a row that this kid he's only just met has managed to wrangle some amusement out of him during this shitty, shitty day. Stan had followed Big Bill, who had been accompanied by his own group of friends, and Eddie was inclined to tag along considering he didn't know anyone else.

At hearing Eddie's reaction, Richie shoots a curious look at him, eyebrow raised. Their eyes meet, and Eddie claps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. The corner of Richie's mouth quirks in a small smile.

The surprising warm reaction from him encourages Eddie to lower his hand, offering an apologetic smile. He mouths, s _orry_.

Richie snorts, shaking his head. "Don't be. Look, I can talk the talk, but I always knew it was a long shot," and Eddie feels a pang of sympathy for him, despite the smile on the kid's face.

Big Bill snorts. "Can you though?"

"Denbrough, please, don't try to sway them. Let your friends come to their own negative conclusions about me." Richie cuts Eddie off so that instead of walking beside him, he's now in front of him, walking backward while still trying to balance his lunch tray. If Eddie had been paying less attention, he would've run right into him.

He looks directly at Eddie when he says, "Speaking of, I don't believe we've formally met."

"We haven't," says Eddie dryly. "I'd have remembered you, for sure."

"Hm…" He pretends to mull it over. "Can't tell if that's a compliment or a diss, but I'll take it."

"It means you make an impression," says Eddie.

"Hopefully the good kind," says Richie, already on their way to banter. Eddie's already opened his mouth for the retort when Bill cuts him off.

"S-Slow down, Trashmouth," says Bill. "You said you wanted introductions. Stan, this is Trashmouth Tozier, but you can c-call him Richie. Richie, this is Stanley Uris. He's an—an old frie—an old friend." Bill gestures to Stan.

"Just Stan. You're the kid Boomer knocked off the platform," says Stan matter-of-factly to Richie.

"That would be me. Can't let Big Bill Denbrough hog all the fame and glory." Richie grins. "Stan! Stan the Man! Put it there." He holds out his hand for one of those bro-handshake-claps.

Stan stares at his hand a long moment before shooting him a questioning look. Instead of following through, he lets go of his tray with one hand and takes Richie's hand tentatively—which is still being held mid-air—and shakes it. Richie watches in silence, an amused twinkle in his eye.

Stan smiles politely. "Any friend of Bill's is a friend of mine."

"A terrible call on your part. Bill has terrible taste, but I'm holding you to it, nonetheless," says Richie. He feigns a sigh of happiness. "I feel close already. By the way, if I'm ever behind bars, I'm citing your exact words when you demand why the hell you're my one phone call. 'Any friend of Bill's is a friend of mine', no take-backs."

Maybe there is something about this kid because Stan's nose whistles in what can only be a quiet snort of laughter. Which is incredible because Eddie's known Stan for ages, and he's never quite been able to crack his peculiar sense of humor.

Bill rolls his eyes. "And this is Mike," says Bill, gesturing to the boy in green, who smiles a brilliant white, even smile. "Mike Hanlon. We've known each other s-si-since—since we were kids."

"Oh, so this is the elusive Mike Hanlon!" says Richie.

Mike shoots Bill a look. "You've mentioned me?"

"The childhood best friend?" says Richie. "Thank God, you showed up when you did, for Bill's sake. I was beginning to think you didn't exist."

"Yeah, w-well, the Hanlons are like family," explains Bill, but his face is flushing pink.

Something about Mike's smile now seems strained. "Yeah, family."

Stan lets go of Richie's hand. "Hang on. You look familiar," he says, leaning in as he scrutinizes Mike closely.

"I get that a lot," says Mike, unfaltering under Stan's gaze. Something about Mike—he has one of the most inviting presences Eddie's ever encountered. His laugh is good-natured. "I just have one of those faces, I guess."

Stan shakes his head. "No, no, I swear I've seen you around!" He frowns. "We didn't go to the same school, right? I feel like I would've remembered you."

"Nah, that's not it. I'm homeschooled. I live just outside of town." Mike offers his hand. "I have family in the area, and I work in the library. Plus, I bike through the neighborhood sometimes on my way to work."

"That must explain it," says Stan, taking Mike's hand and shaking it much more firmly than whatever he'd done with Richie. "Well, as I said, any friend of Bill's is a friend of mine," says Stan, but there's something very different about the way he says it to Mike compared to when he says it to Richie. He's still holding Mike's hand, and smiling sweetly, which is very unlike Stan.

Oh, Stan could be sweet—he was a real softie at times—but to be so unguarded so early in an acquaintanceship? Eddie's never seen it before.

Bill clears his throat, catching everyone's attention again. "And this is…" When Bill gestures to Eddie, his mouth hangs open dumbly like he's suddenly aware they've never been introduced.

"Wait, I know this!" chimes in Richie before Bill can ask his name. "Boomer already got to you." He snaps his fingers, and Eddie gets the sense he’s trying to recall a memory. "Don't tell me... Edward, right?"

"Actually, Eddie." Eddie grimaces and offers a small wave, not being one for shaking hands.

He's never cared for 'Edward'. 'Edward' was reserved for overly formal occasions and getting in real, honest-to-God trouble. ("Eddie-Bear" was for the common fuck-up. "Edward" was when he was really and truly fucked.)

"Eddie Kaspbrak. I live on the same block as Stan." He omits the part about being homeschooled.

Richie’s eyes go wide. "Right, the guinea pig!" he says, clapping his hands together in a moment of realization. "Dude, you were _awesome_."

"Shut up!" says Eddie, feeling his face grow hot. He's already not in the best mood, the last thing he needs is someone making fun of him.

"Richie!" chides Bill. "I'm s-so s-s-sorry, his mouth doesn't always c-c-connect to his brain."

"It wasn't a diss! Are you kidding?" Richie's eyes are lit up with inexplicable exuberance—like he might not be joking when he says Eddie is "awesome". "Power placement is bullshit, everyone knows that."

"Says the guy who was c-co-convinced he was gonna be p-put in hero class," says Bill.

Richie shrugs. "So I have a shit-ton of unearned confidence, what else is new? Boom's a fucking dick. He gets a power trip off the humiliation, and a freshman talking back to him on the first day? Made my motherfucking week." He kisses his fingers and makes a _mwah_ sound.

Eddie flushes pink. "I dunno, it—it was stupid." He does that sometimes—acts impulsively and then regrets it the moment after. Thank God, he hadn't gotten in trouble. He didn't know the protocol for punishment at this school, but if his mom found out that he'd talked back to a teacher on his first day? He'd be in for it for sure.

"Or brave."

The corner of Eddie's mouth twitches in a small smile. He's not used to praise—he's not exactly sure what the protocol is for accepting it. But it feels pretty good.

The five of them stop at an open cafeteria table.

Eddie shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. He stares pointedly at Richie as he sets down his tray and unwraps the plastic on his spork. "Yeah, but come on, I wasn't the only one who got a few jabs in."

Richie takes the seat opposite him, sliding in next to Bill. "Oh, I know! Pour one out for Mikey, am I right?" he says, giving Mike a wink, and Eddie can't tell if he's deflecting or straight up obtuse. "Way to stick it to the old people. Disrupt the system."

Mike grins sheepishly. "It wasn't all that. Look, I was raised to stick with my convictions. I come from a rural area, we're just not into the whole metropolitan hero thing."

"Gotta love a man with principles," says Richie. "Speaking as someone who has none."

Bill shakes his head. "I still don't understand it, Mike. Your p-p-power is so—"

"I can control plants," says Mike loudly, cutting him off and addressing the others. "It's not as exciting as you might think. Pretty nifty for gardening, though."

"Oh! So that explains the whole crunchy vegan vibe I'm getting,” says Richie.

"My mom can communicate with animals." Mike shrugs. "Apparently, they don't like being eaten."

"But your parents—" says Bill, before Mike interrupts him again.

"Think hero work is a bunch of self-aggrandizing showboating. Which is why I am more than happy to be a sidekick, _Bill_ , because they're right." Mike's eyes go wide like he's only just realizing that he's talking to the son of the greatest superheroes in the world. "I—I didn't mean always! No offense, Bill, I just think—sorry. Look, I know what I'm getting into. My grandfather prepared me for all this. He told me I should do whatever it takes to get on top, but I—I don't wanna win that way. I wanna help people on my terms. Trust me, I'm exactly where I want to be."

There's a note of finality to Mike's tone. The way they're looking at each other tells Eddie that they've had this argument before.

Bill opens his mouth, probably to protest, but Mike anticipates this and turns to Richie. "Besides," he says with a smile, "If you wanna talk getting on the coach's bad side, Eddie and I are hardly the only ones."

Richie's poking at his meal with the end of his spork when he looks up, realizing that the attention has been diverted back to him. "What, me? Nah, I was just fucking around with him," he says. "If they're gonna laugh, might as well give the people something to laugh at." His tone is flippant, but there's something melancholy in his eyes.

"T-Trust me," says Bill. "That's just Trashmouth being Trashmouth."

Eddie watches Richie for a moment before he speaks again. "I'm sorry you didn't end up where you wanted," he says softly, eyes fixed on his tray so that he doesn't have to look at him.

Bill pats Richie on the back. "Me, too."

Richie shakes his head. "Nah. It's ok."

"I get it, though," says Eddie, and when Richie looks up at him quizzically, his self-assurance falters. "I mean… I understand I guess. I always knew where I was gonna end up, but still."

Richie nods. "A part of you still kinda hopes, doesn't it?"

"Yeah…"

He smiles wryly. "Welcome to the Loser Track, Eddie."

Eddie flushes red, embarrassed that Richie and the others heard him say something so disparaging. Sure, it was because he was down on himself, but that didn't give him the right to insult anyone else. "I didn't mean that."

"Nah, it's ok. You're one of us, now. Own it."

"Well, don't count your chickens. We're still waiting to see where Bill ends up," says Stan.

"R-Right." Bill laughs, but he sounds uneasy. "Because I still haven't gotten p-p-p-placed..."

"Yep," says Mike, giving Bill a pointed look, like maybe he knows something the rest of them don't.

The other boys are engrossed in conversation when Eddie realizes that Richie keeps grasping his right forearm. Every time he does, there's a sharp intake of breath.

"Hey, man," says Eddie. "Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Richie blinks, meeting Eddie's eyes, and Eddie gestures to his forearm. "Oh, yeah. It's nothing."

"Are you sure?" he asks. "You fell a pretty long ways earlier."

"Yeah, thanks, but it's no big deal. I just landed on my arm is all."

"Do you want me to take a look at it?" says Eddie. "I'm pretty good at that kind of stuff."

By "that kind of stuff" he means patching up minor injuries in the hopes of avoiding a whole ordeal with his mom. But that's difficult and embarrassing to explain, so he just says, "that kind of stuff."

Luckily, Richie doesn't question it, he just nods and extends his arm. Eddie takes it gingerly in his hands. He watches Eddie for a moment. "Wow. Shapeshifter and a healer? Talk about a double threat, Eds."

"No, actually I just—" Something Richie says jumps out at him. Eddie stops looking at Richie's arm and instead looks up at him, distracted. "What did you call me?"

"Uh, 'Eds'? Correct me if I'm wrong, is that not a derivative of the name 'Edward'?"

Eddie scowls. "I know it is! I just… why?"

"I dunno. You look like an 'Eds'." He grins.

"I do?" asks Eddie. He had no idea he looked like much of anything.

"If you don't like it, there's plenty more where that came from. We could try something else: Ed, Eduardo, Eddie Spaghetti—"

"Oh, Jesus, fuck no," says Eddie, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose. Richie laughs. "What is with your insistence on giving me a dopey nickname?"

"Ouch."

"Sorry, I just—I don't do nicknames." He doesn't mean to hurt the kid's feelings, it's just that in his experience, he's found them to be more humiliating than affirming. "Fanny Pack", "Eddie-Bear", "Wheezy"—they were all one and the same.

To be fair, he didn't feel that way when Richie had called him "Eds". Once the initial shock had worn off, he actually thought it was kind of sweet. There was no ill-intent, no malice behind it. He'd never before been given a nickname just for the sake of it.

"'Eddie' is a nickname."

"That's different. I chose that one for myself. I've yet to hear someone else come up with something that isn't horrendous." Eddie sighs—begrudged to admit that "Eds" is actually growing on him. He has to at least try to seem indifferent, after causing all that fuss. "You know what? Now that you've listed the alternatives, 'Eds' is probably the most merciful we're gonna get, so—"

"See?" says Richie. "I knew you were an 'Eds'."

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he can't fight back the smile on his lips. As dumb as it is, maybe he likes being an 'Eds'. He's never been an 'Eds' before.

It was like having a secret identity.

"If you say so." He goes back to Richie's arm. "Well, it looks ok to me."

"Told you, Eds," says Richie, but he doesn't retract his arm from Eddie's grasp. "Right as rain, Doctor K."

"Just wanted to be sure! You can't be too careful with this kind of stuff."

"Well, get used to it. You're at Sky High now, which means safety goes out the fuckin' window."

Eddie grimaces. "Great. My mother will love that."

"Mama's boy, are we?" says Richie, smirking.

"No!" says Eddie immediately, letting go of Richie's arm. It's not Richie's fault, he doesn't know any better after all, but the phrase "mama's boy" makes his skin crawl.

Bill interrupts their conversation. "Is it j-just me, or is the girl behind us s-st-st-staring at me?"

Richie glances up. "Dude, that's Beverly Marsh," he says under his breath.

Eddie cranes his neck to see over Bill's shoulder. Sure enough, a girl with flaming red hair dressed all in black is staring at him.

Mike gapes. " _That's_ Beverly Marsh?" he says. "Oh, I've heard about her. Her dad's a supervillain, and her mom was a superhero."

"'Was'?" asks Bill.

"Yeah, 'was'."

"Oh. Ok, b-b-b-but why is she looking at me like that?" says Bill.

"Uh, maybe because your parents are the reason her dad is in jail?" says Mike. "Your dad busted her dad. Quadruple life sentence. No chance of parole until after his third life. How do you not know this?"

"I d-don't know! M-My p-p-par—parents have fought a lot of supervillains, ok-k?" He tries to hide his face with his hand. "Is sh-she—Is she still looking at me?" asks Bill.

"No." Mike shakes his head, trying to play it off. "No."

It's a pretty bald-faced lie because Eddie can see over Mike's shoulder that Beverly Marsh is still staring at their table.

"Better watch out, Bill. From what I hear, the list of guys she's done is longer than my wang," says Richie.

Stan raises his eyebrows. "Bet that's not saying much."

Mike rolls his eyes. "Classy, Rich."

Richie laughs. "See, I knew there was something missing from our rapport, Bill. How come you never let me in on how brutal your other friends are?"

Eddie's still staring at her. "Guys aren't too scared to tango with _her_?" he asks in awe. Sure she was pretty, in a tomboyish way, but if he were other guys he would've found her intimidating as shit. Then again, how much did Eddie have in common with other guys?

Richie snorts and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "'Tango'? What, are we being coy? You could say she's _hot_." A beat, like he's waiting for a laugh. If there's a joke, Eddie doesn't get it. "Some people are into rough action, Eds. For all you know, your mom might be one of them. She told me last night—"

Eddie gapes at him in shock. "Dude!"

Bill sighs. "Beep beep, Richie," he says, and there's a warning note to his tone. However, Richie snaps his mouth shut. Bill checks his watch. "We b-better go if we wanna make it t-to—to power placement."

Bill stands up, and the others follow suit, perfectly content to let him call the shots. He tosses his food, stacking his tray, exits the cafeteria, and freezes where he stands.

A lone boy—about seven or eight years old—stands at the end of the hall. He's dressed in a yellow raincoat and is holding a paper boat.

"G-Georgie?"

Bill is deathly pale.

The bell rings, and a crowd of students rush by, eager to get to class before the final bell, engulfing the boy so that he is out of sight.

"G-G-Georgie? Georgie!" Bill races down the hall after the boy, fighting the crowd, but it's no use.

The crowd disperses just enough to see through, and the boy is gone. It's as if he's vanished into thin air.

Bill's hyperventilating.

"Bill?" asks Mike.

He ducks into the nearest restroom, quick to make his escape.

"Bill!" Mike follows him, the others quick on their heels, worried for their new friend. "Bill, are you alright?" He puts a hand on Bill's shoulder.

Bill doesn't answer, distracted by a chubby boy who stumbles out of the last bathroom stall.

A roll of toilet paper hits the boy in the head. There's the sound of flushing, and the boy catches his backpack before it can also hit him. He dashes off, one long, rubbery arm waving him a taunting goodbye.

Several older boys laugh and emerge from the stall. The shorter blonde boy in the lead wears a backwards cap, the taller black-haired boy close behind him wears a striped shirt.

Noticing the staring, the shorter one says, "The kid, uh... looked a little dehydrated."

The one in stripes laughs. Their eyes go wide at the sight of Bill.

"Oh, shit! You're that Denbrough kid!" says the boy in the cap.

"Y-Yeah."

"What do you say, Denbrough? Gonna hang with us this year? Help us bring some pain to the sidekicks?" asks the boy in stripes. "Although I can see you already have some adorable little sidekick groupies."

Bill keeps his head down, not saying anything.

"Hey. Easy there," says the boy in the cap. "Your little friends get a free ride because of your family name, ok? So make sure to thank your little buddy, here, freaks." He reaches out to muss up Bill's hair, and Bill ducks his head. The boy in the cap smirks as he passes. "See you around, Denbrough."

The thick-set boy behind him cracks a grin and spits. The loogie shoots across the bathroom and smacks right onto the door of the furthest stall. He belches in Eddie's ear, cackling as he follows Bowers out the door. The smell alone is enough to make Eddie gag.

"That's disgusting," says Eddie when he's finally recovered. "Super spit?"

Richie points to the stall door. Eddie does a double-take. The speckled plastic is slowly corroding away. "Acid spit."

"Still gross."

Richie groans. "Fucking Belch," he mutters. "How are people supposed to piss and shit now? God, the last thing I need is Speed and Lash on my ass all year."

"Who?" asks Eddie.

"Bowers and Hockstetter, but people sometimes just call them 'Speed and Lash' because people at this school think they're super fucking original when it comes to nicknames."

"Bowers? As in 'Coach Bowers'?"

"As in 'Henry Bowers', but yeah, basically. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Eddie doesn't answer. Hockstetter's words are ringing in his ears. _Pain to the sidekicks_.

"Shit," he says under his breath. "So this is what it's gonna be?"

Richie's still staring at the corroded door. "What, you thought things were gonna get _easier_ in high school?"

Eddie frowns. "No, but—I dunno, I hoped there would be, like—a break, I guess?"

"Only heroes catch a break, Eds. Losers like us are lucky to just get by with our heads down. You haven't figured that out by now?"

"So this is it. Things are just rough all over?"

"Sorry things aren't as idyllic as you'd hoped. God, the douchebags the hero program churns out, huh?”

Stan shudders. "And these guys are expected to be heroes?" he asks. "That's depressing."

"Future saviors of mankind, ladies and gentleman," says Richie. "Those guys can't even protect Derry."

"And it's the sidekick's job to help heroes like that someday. That poor kid," says Mike, staring back at the bathroom exit like he expects the boy to be there. "I hope he's ok."

"Ok, but Mike, this is exactly why I think y-you c-c-could do some good!" says Bill. He's shaking. "You're s-s-s-s-s-so much better than those guys! Kids are m-m-missing, _Georgie_ is missing and—Being a sidekick is a f—it's a f-f-f-f—it's a _fucking_ waste of your—!"

"Bill, I can't," says Mike.

"I'm j-j—just s-saying, you could be something, Mike."

"So can you! You never needed a dumb test to tell you that, Bill. Are you alright?"

Bill takes a deep breath a nods. "I—I think so."

"What was that?" asks Stan.

"Probably some asshole playing tricks. News circulates fast in Derry." Mike sighs. "Look, we gotta get to power placement."

Boomer is waiting for them outside the restroom.

"The bell has already rung," he says, brow furrowed in his perpetual scowl as he folds his arms. "You boys need a hall pass."

Something about this rings hollow. Isn't Boomer supposed to be in the gym? He knows where they're supposed to be. It's where he should be, too.

Richie is not having it. "Look, my friend isn't feeling well—"

"You talking back to the coach?"

"N-No!" stammers Richie, unlike him to falter under anyone's gaze, but he does.

"No, _what_?"

"No, sir!" says Richie.

Boomer's whole body transforms, and turns out it's actually just carbon-copy kid from power placement.

He laughs, clapping Richie on the shoulder and smirking. "Just messing with you, sidekick."

As he walks away, Stan calls after him, "You're not supposed to use your powers outside the school gym!"

The boy ignores him.

"Dick," mutters Richie. "Let's go."

In a day full of surprises, the biggest surprise of all: Big Bill Denbrough, son of the biggest superheroes in the world, doesn't actually have any powers.

They're so screwed.

—

It takes Eddie a while to warm up to Richie, but they become friends. Good friends, even. Close friends.

And apparently, Richie really does glow.

A week into Hero Support class, and Eddie swears the school is already trying to kill him. Before the teacher's even gotten a word in, there's a bang loud enough to make kids jump. The lights in the room go out just as the world begins to shake.

 _Fuck_. So his mom was right. This is how he dies.

It's over in a second, but once everything has calmed down and the rumbling stops, the classroom is still pitch dark—except for a faint green-ish light from somewhere behind Eddie's desk.

Feeling safe enough to move, curiosity compels Eddie to turn around, drawn to find the source of the light. He's surprised to see...

 _Richie,_ lit up like a Christmas tree.

 _Wow_.

Luckily, he doesn't say "wow" out loud. He'd never be able to live down "wow".

Instead, he says, "Oh, look, he does glow."

Stating the obvious, trying to play it casual, even as Eddie can't help his amused grin. His appreciative glance up and down seems to please Richie a great deal; he's terrible at hiding it.

Mike turns around in his seat to see just what Eddie is talking about and gapes.

Richie smirks at the pair of them, but his eyes are on Eddie. "Told you." He winks.

Hopefully it's still dark enough that he doesn't notice the blush on Eddie's face.

Something about the way the light catches, the soft yellow light that seems to encompass him, makes him almost look otherworldly. It's not exciting—just a faint light, barely bright enough to keep the room lit. There’s no lightning, no sparks, no cool gimmick. But it is beautiful.

He's so caught up in the moment that he even forgets his panic about the blackout. And all Eddie ever does is panic.

Crack all the jokes in the world, how is that not the coolest thing ever? Maybe he's no better than a moth to a flame, but if he's a little enchanted right now, who can blame him?

Thankfully, it's nothing, just a misfire in the mad science lab—although the fact that incidents like this are considered routine in this school is definitely troublesome. However, no one is hurt, which is the most important thing. Once the lights come back on, they can resume business as usual.

For the remainder of the class, Eddie is just itching to talk to Richie.

The bell rings, and the students hurry to pack up their stuff and head to their next class. Eddie follows Richie out the door.

"I knew it!" says Eddie once he's caught up with him. "I fucking knew you were telling the truth! People were saying that you washed out of power placement like Bill, but I had a feeling you were telling the truth."

He's grinning, shaking a finger and pointing it at Richie with smug triumph.

"People have been saying that?" asks Richie. He stares at Eddie's finger in a way that makes him go slightly cross-eyed, then to Eddie himself with an expression that is a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

 _Fuck_. He hadn't meant to admit that out loud.

"Well, yeah," admits Eddie, finally lowering his hand. He doesn't want Richie to think he gives any weight to the rumors about him. Or that he's been talking about Richie behind his back. For some reason, he's not sure if he could bear it if Richie had a low opinion of him. "But I never put any stock in it, Rich, honest!"

Luckily, Richie doesn't seem to care about the rumors because he doesn't press it. Instead, he blinks, eyes huge behind his specs. "Really, Eds? You believed me?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, most people think I'm full of shit, so—"

Eddie chuckles. "They don't call you Trashmouth for nothing."

Richie ignores him. "How did you know? C'mon, Eds, what's my tell?" He pokes Eddie in the sides. "I gotta know. What gave it away?" He pokes him again.

"Hey!" says Eddie. He really tries to think of an explanation, but there isn't one. Not one he can articulate, anyway. Which sucks because the last thing he wants to do is say something pithy and introspective in front of Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier.

"Hello? Eddie Spaghetti?"

He's quiet. "I dunno. I just knew."

Eddie braces himself for the mocking reply, but it doesn't come.

They walk in silence.

"So what'd you think?" asks Richie, voice low and oddly serene.

"What?"

"Y'know, now that you've seen _this_ in action." He gestures to himself, and his tone is joking but there's something apprehensive about his expression—like he might actually care what Eddie has to say.

"Oh, that!" says Eddie with a strained laugh, and Richie gives him a look that says, _yes, that_.

He gazes up at Richie, trying to find the right words.

What could he say?

Certainly not "wow".

Well, Eddie could always tease him. Call it hilarious, or stupid, or say he's a human glowstick. That's what they do when they're together, push each other's buttons. But even if he makes fun of Richie's power only as a joke, that would probably hurt his feelings. He could never do that—even if after everything, Eddie really couldn't find a super practical application for Richie's power. And at the end of the day, Richie would probably pretend to laugh it off like nothing was wrong, which would make Eddie feel even worse.

He could also be honest. But what did "honest" even mean? That he thought it was beautiful—that he, _Richie_ , was beautiful? Something corny like that. God, if he said something like that, he'd never hear the end of it. Richie would make fun of him for sure.

"Beautiful"? No way.

Certainly, that was the much kinder option, but it was scary. Soft, kind, scary.

Getting a good look at him in the light of the hallway, he's back to normal Richie again—back to unassuming, gangly, four-eyed, tall. Eddie tells himself that there's nothing ethereal about him. But when Richie smiles down at him with that typical bright-eyed, dopey grin of his, his pulse quickens, and Eddie knows that he's royally fucked.

"It's… neat."

" _Neat"? Are you kidding yourself, Eds? All that trouble, and you settle on "neat"?_

"Really?" says Richie, his eyes lighting up. "You think so?"

Face burning, Eddie nods, rendered speechless in his idiocy-induced embarrassment. He wants to crawl into a hole and never come back.

"Well, it's no shapeshifting into a guinea pig," says Richie, and Eddie scowls. "But it's a neat party trick."

"Hmph. You're sure to turn a few heads at least. Besides, if shapeshifting is so cool, then why am I stuck in sidekick class?" says Eddie.

"'Cause Boomer doesn't know how cute you are, Eds—not like me. I saw what a cutie you were the first time I met you."

"Don't call me that," says Eddie, but Richie ignores him and pinches his cheek.

"See? Cute, cute, cute!"

Eddie bats his hand away. "Cut it out, Rich!" He rubs his cheek in the spot where it's sore, trying not to fixate on the fact that Richie's hand was just there a minute ago, touching his face.

 _Cute_.

He likes the attention more than he's willing to admit, but at the same time, is that really how Richie sees him? He's used to everyone else thinking he was a joke, but now Richie, too? If that's all Richie sees in him, that he's "cute" and all the connotations that implies (small, helpless, weak)—he's not sure if he can take it.

"The proof is in the pudding, Eds. Indisputable. Boomer is an idiot. _Anyone_ that underestimates you is a fucking idiot."

Eddie manages a small smile. "Thanks, Rich." Richie's words assuage his worries for the time being.

Richie punches him in the shoulder. "You're pretty alright."

"Oh, gee, thanks." Eddie rolls his eyes.

"I mean it, Eds! I'm tryna say thanks here!"

"For what?"

He shrugs. "For believing me, I guess."

"Yeah, well," he mutters. "It's like you say, Boomer's a dick. And you deserved a fair shake to prove yourself."

"You really think so?"

"Of course! You're pretty alright, too."

Richie smiles. "C'mon. We can't be late for gym. I hear they're teaching the Clark Kent today, and we can point and laugh at the kids who get tangled up in their own clothes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title song: “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears


	2. Intermission: See, the Luck I've Had Can Make a Good Man Turn Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching up the POV for this one

End of another shitty day, and Beverly's ready to go home. The bell rings, and she rushes out the door, waiting for no one because no one waits for her. No one wants to keep Beverly Marsh, which is fine. She likes that just fine.

She takes the back way as usual because Beverly hates the staring eyes whenever she's anywhere near the entrance of the school. Only today, some kid is standing at the foot of the steps, blocking her path.

She sits and waits for the kid to move. She waits. And waits.

"Are you gonna let me go by?" she snaps. "Or is there is there a secret password or something?"

Normally, she'd blow right past helpless newbies and lost freshman without a second thought, but for some reason, she's feeling extra merciful today. Besides, there's something dopey and sweet about this kid that makes her hesitant to scar him just yet.

The boy whips his head around, accidentally knocking the project he’s holding to the ground. "Oh, um—sorry!" He blushes.

"'Sorry's not a…" she starts, but the boy stoops down to pick up the pieces of his project, and she stops. She watches as he clamors to reassemble the pieces of his model, something akin to pity in her expression. "Password."

And normally, she's not the type to keep tabs on who is who, but she's pretty sure she recognizes the kid. Besides, she knows jumpy behavior when she sees it. And no one ever takes the back entrance, so it's not hard to guess what's going on.

He's _hiding_.

The boy is about to head off when she stops him.

"Henry and his goons are over by the west entrance, so you should be fine," she says despite herself, no idea what compels her to bother looking out for him.

"Oh, I wasn't—"

"Everyone knows he's looking for you." She glances down at the model in his hands, in pieces but somehow the different mechanisms are still whirring and blinking. "What's with the science project?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just a miniature model of the clubh—secret sanctum design I've been working on for a class project."

"This is pretty nifty. You seriously made this yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm a technopath."

"What does that—"

"It means I can control technology with my mind. Yeah, it's uh—"

"How come I've never taken a class like that?"

"Oh, it's um—it's part of the sidekick's schedule."

Beverly nods. "Got it…" She notices the boy is wearing headphones. "What're you listening to?" she asks, curiosity piqued.

Maybe he just caught her at a good time. Still, she may have been too nice to push him aside or scare him off, but that doesn't mean she can't toy with him a little bit. She grabs his headphones, taking a listen, and smiles.

"New Kids on the Block."

"I don't even like them!" says the boy, tensing up immediately. "I was just—"

"Wait... You're the new kid!" she says, interrupting him. She knew he looked familiar. He's the transfer from last year. Honestly, she's disinterested in any excuse he could give her—one she's not going to buy. It's much more appealing to dismiss it in favor of drawing out her fun. "Now I get it."

The new kid pouts, positively adorable. "There's nothing to get."

She chuckles, placing the headphones back on his head, only for them to slide right off. "I'm just messing with you."

That seems to relax him a bit, but he still seems on edge. "O-Oh, okay…"

"Old school, I dig it. Well, _new_ -old school, technically." She bites back a smile. When Ben's expression is blank, she tries to explain. "Y'know, new kids but old school?" Nothing. "Because like—" She shakes her head. Any hopes of maintaining a sense of cool are dwindling down by the second.

Ok. Start over.

"I'm Beverly Marsh," she says, noting how weird it is for her to say it out loud. Only now is she realizing how rarely she gets to properly introduce herself without someone running for the hills on some preconceived notion of her terrifying teenage rebellion. I mean, they were usually right, her acts of teenage rebellion were self-admittedly rather heinous, but that didn't mean she _enjoyed_ being treated like a pariah.

"Yeah, I know that, 'cause, uh—"

She rolls her eyes. "Let me guess, upperclassman warn you to steer clear? I swear, it's like the entire cheer squad is out to get me," shes says, biting back a smile like she's just told another funny joke. She's on fire. Ha. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "Don't worry, Greta just wants to scare you."

She puts a cigarette between her teeth and snaps her fingers. Opening her palm, a small flame appears that she uses to light it. She quirks an eyebrow and smirks, tilting her head down and leaning in close. "Or does she?"

That always manages to intimidate people. If Beverly knows anything by now, it's that people hate to chance being anywhere near an open flame. It's a fun trick. She can play the villain if they want her to be one.

The boy just smiles—a little sheepish, but unflinching. "Actually, it's 'cause we're in the same class."

Bev blinks, completely disarmed by his reply.

" _Oh_."

She blows smoke.

He isn't afraid. He _should_ be afraid.

He nods. "Social Studies. You're—" He hesitates. "I'm Ben, but pretty much everyone calls me—"

"The New Kid," says Bev shortly, trying to aim for as detached as possible—because if the warmth in her cheeks is in any way visible, it's going to be bad for her image. The kids at Sky High are vultures. The minute they hear Beverly Marsh has gone soft? Say goodbye to her reputation now. "Yeah, we don't exactly get a lot of end-of-year transfers. Well, _Ben_ , there are worse things to be called."

"I know."

She eyes him curiously. "Are you scared of me, Ben from Soc? It's ok, pretty much everyone is."

"Should I be?"

Beverly chuckles. "Stay cool, Ben From Soc Class." She nudges past him. It's time to leave.

"You, too, Beverly!" he calls out to her, and she catches just a glimpse of a bright smile on his face before she's off in the other direction.

"Hang tight, New Kid on the Block!" she says as she walks away.

And she's playing it cool, but she has to get out there. Because Ben from Soc isn't scared of her. In fact, Ben from Soc smiled at her, and that hasn't happened in a really long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who asks, there is no Gwen Grayson equivalent in this au, and Technopaths are still considered a "sidekick" kind of power.
> 
> Also, in case anyone is confused, Beverly is a sophomore, so is Ben, so they’re slightly older than the other Losers. Beverly doesn’t share the power placement scene, and Ben being The New Kid wouldn’t be noteworthy if he were an incoming freshman same as the rest of the losers, so he’s a transfer.
> 
> Btw, each title is from a song from the movie soundtrack, which lowkey rules
> 
> Intermission title song: “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want” by The Smiths


	3. Chapter 2: Hush, Hush, Keep It Down Now, Voices Carry

It may be super-school, but even hero school is still school, so they still have to do student things like study. With exams coming up, the Losers decide to have a study group at Bill's house.

"Ok, number one," says Stan before reading from the textbook. "’A radioactive zombie is charging at your hero. Do you hand him a) his silver-tipped crossbow, b) his wooden spike, c)—‘"

Richie cuts him off. "Yeah, yeah, that's so weak, man. I'm already holding this crossbow, why can't I just shoot him myself?"

Stan shoots him a cross look. "'Cause we're hero _support_. And if your hero asks for a crossbow, you hand it to him. Or her. Besides, Richie, you can't kill a zombie, you can only… _re-kill_ him…" He pauses. "Or _her_ ," he adds, then laughs.

A booming voice from the doorway. "So if you kids are all in here, who is out there, saving the world?"

Everyone turns to see _the fucking Commander_ standing in Bill's living room.

"D-Dad!" says Bill. His smile falters in realization. "Why are you home so early?"

"After I stopped the Superdome from collapsing, I was watching the game, and I got to thinking. It's been a while since me and the kids—" A shadow crosses the Commander's face for just a moment. "Since… since Bill and I tossed the old pigskin around! So I hustled back home, but I see you're already with some school friends."

"Dad, if you w-wanna—wanna talk one on one, I can—"

"No, Bill, it's alright."

Stan stands up. "It's an honor, sir," he says, holding out his hand, about as close to awestruck as Stan can get.

The Commander shakes it. "Please, enough with the 'sir', I beg you. Remind me your power, uh—?"

"Stan. I'm Stan, and I melt."

"O—Okay."

Eddie doesn't like the way Bill's dad hesitates in response. Stan must have picked up on it, too, because for just a moment, his smile falters as he sits back down.

"Hey, Mr. Denbrough," says Richie with a small wave.

"Oh, Richie!" says the Commander. "Didn't see you there. I haven't seen you in… gosh, how long? What do, uh—"

"Oh, I glow."

"I see…"

There it is again, the same hesitation, the same look in his eye.

Eddie stands up and shakes his hand. "Eddie, I shapeshift." Shaking hands with the Commander is about what he expects—a firm handshake, firm to the point of painful.

"Shapeshift!" says the Commander, an Eddie feels a pang of guilt at the obvious heightened enthusiasm in the Commander's tone in comparison to his friends. However, it's not going to be long-lasting. He's smiling with a familiar expression of piqued interest.

 _Shit_. He's going to have to tell him.

"Into a guinea pig."

Once again, his smile is fixed, but there's something in his expression that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Great… Great. Great! Really great." He claps his hands together. "Well, I make a mean tuna fish salad sandwich. Anybody want one?"

Everyone shakes their heads, still too awestruck to really speak.

"Pleasure talking to you."

Eddie can hear the entire conversation from a room over.

"Dad, are you and Mom t-taking d-dis—distress calls again? It hasn't been that long, are you s-sure that you're ok t-to be—"

"Ah, they're a good bunch of kids, Bill. It's good that you're getting out there after everything—everything that's happened."

"I think we should—"

"Let me ask you something, though. Does that one kid, Richie, does he really, ya know—glow?"

"S-Sometimes. Dad, are you s-sure you d-don't—don't wanna t-t-talk about—"

"They've really lowered the bar for superheroes since I went there."

"W-Well, actually, Richie's a—a sidekick."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense."

A pause. "Actually, they're all s-sidekicks…"

"Good for you, son. A kid of your stature, hanging out with a bunch of sidekicks. As a freshman, I didn't have the guts. And I can only imagine what your grandfather would've said if I'd brought some of them _home_."

Eddie feels sick to his stomach.

"You know… There's nothing wr-wrong with—wrong with—with b-b-being a sidekick, Dad."

"Oh, of course not. I used to have one. Saved my life once, too."

"S-S-So then you would be f-fine if then I—I was a sidekick."

"Oh yeah, sure, I guess. Hey, hand me that mayonnaise."

"Well, that's good then b-b-because—b-because—because—because I am."

"Am what?'

"A sidekick."

"Who is?"

"M-M-M-M-Me! D-Dad, I'm a—a sidekick, ok? I washed out of power placement!"

Silence.

" _Washed_ _out_?"

He yells so loud, the sound is still ringing in his ears. Eddie had previously been pretending not to eavesdrop, but now he couldn't ignore the fight if he tried.

The Commander slams his fist so hard on the granite kitchen island, the boom echoes throughout the house. Eddie jumps, on a reflex looking up just in time to see the kitchenware on the countertop go flying.

He meets eyes with the other Losers, trying to silently plead for help, asking desperately for a way out. They can still hear Bill arguing with his dad from the other room, and there's nowhere to go.

"Dad, wh-what are you doing?"

The sound of pressing buttons. "I'm calling the school, the tuition we pay them—"

 _Crunch_ , and a cry of frustration. A drawer opening, and more button pressing.

"It's n-not the coach, it—it's me!"

 _Crunch_. More buttons. _Crunch_.

"I don't have any powers!"

A pause.

"But you never said—I mean, you made it seem—"

"Like I had s-super—super strength like you? But, I don't."

"But you will, Bill! You're just—You're just a late bloomer! That's what it is!"

"Maybe. M-Maybe not. But I don't care. Because, really, the f-fact of the matter is, I'm proud to be a sidekick. A-Actually, I'm proud to be hero support."

Bill enters the living room again and sits down, and everyone scrambles to hastily return to their textbooks like they haven't just been listening in on the whole thing.

"S-S-So, I think we pretty much c-covered the undead. What's next?" asks Bill, his tone casual like nothing has happened.

No one says anything, they just eye him warily—suspicious as to why he's acting all blase about the whole thing.

"What?" asks Bill, to the whole group, but mostly to Mike, who just shakes his head and shrugs.

Stan clears his throat and begins to read again. "’Your hero flies north at 300 miles per hour for 15 minutes. His arch-enemy is tunneling south at 200 miles per hour for ten minutes. Assuming your hero has x-ray vision, how long will it take for him to realize he's going the wrong way?’"

Eddie follows along with the passage, but out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mike staring at Bill with concern, but there's something else there, too. Admiration, maybe, like he's never been more proud.

He attempts to put the argument from his mind and get right back to the study group, but he's distracted all night. However, he's too scared to say anything with Bill there.

It's not until the night is over, and he's walking home with Richie that he dares to bring it up.

"Do you think Bill is embarrassed about us?" asks Eddie quietly, once they're definitely out of range of the Denbrough house. They've been walking for a few minutes, and are just about to reach the end of the block.

"Nah," says Richie, shaking his head. "I think he's just going through a rough time, himself, ya know? Don't think too badly of him. He's just got a lot on his plate, what with his parents and all."

His voice is low, too. Surprisingly cognizant of him for such a loud-mouth, probably aware that Eddie was hoping not to attract attention, or worse, be overheard by the Denbroughs or any of their neighbors.

"I suppose," says Eddie, and he's inclined to trust Richie. He knows Bill best after all. Besides, Richie is honest. He tells it like it is. He's never been one to be all cushy. He doesn't feel the need to protect Eddie with a bunch of pretty-sounding lies. So when he says that Bill isn't embarrassed, Eddie believes him.

But there's something else about the night that's been gnawing at him.

"Is that really what his dad thinks of us, though?"

"What do you mean?" asks Richie.

"Y'know." Eddie's brow furrows, trying to find the words to explain. "The whole 'there's nothing wrong with being a sidekick!' schtick and then flipping out the next second?"

The sound of the bang when his fist at hit the counter—and the sight of all the kitchenware going flying in the air—had really scared the shit out of him. It's not like Eddie's mom has never raised her voice at him—she has, plenty of times, but only when he really messes up. Only when he deserves it. He's never been this blindsided. He's used to kids in the neighborhood making fun of him—calling him weak, wheezy, a sissy, among other things. It's not like he expected the world of heroes to be a safe-haven, but he was expecting _something_ warmer as a welcome.

It's like no matter where he goes, he's _wrong_.

He rambles like he always does when his thoughts get carried away. "And then the stuff he said about Bill's grandfather, what did he mean by that? He seemed really impressed with me when we introduced ourselves—at least at first. Rich, I hate when that happens, every time someone makes assumptions about what I can do and then I have to break the truth to them, I just hate it. The look on their face is the same every time. And his dad being all shocked that Bill would bring us to his house, and—"

"Hey. Look at me."

So he does.

Richie's eyes are intense. "Bill's not embarrassed to be friends with you, Eds. He's not embarrassed to be friends with any of us. That's just his dad being a dick. So fuck him."

Eddie is so caught up on the piercing look Richie is giving him, that he completely forgets to object at the nickname. Beyond that, Richie's words are a small comfort. Maybe Richie means exactly what he says, but a part of Eddie wishes there's something more, something deeper there as well. The world has hated him for a lot more than being a sidekick.

Richie finally tears his eyes away as he mutters, more to himself than to Eddie, "Besides, I think he's more like one of those 'it's ok as long as it's not my kid' kind of people." He kicks a rock on the pavement.

"I guess I just can't believe Bill hasn't told him all this time."

"With that kind of reaction, can you blame him?" Richie's tone is still bitter. He glances at Eddie out of the corner of his eye, smirking slyly. "Besides, like you've never kept a secret from your parents?"

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. "I—"

He considers explaining the situation to Richie. Maybe Richie is a jokester, and maybe he'll tease him about it, but for some reason, he still feels compelled to talk to him. Something about Richie just makes Eddie feel braver. More ready to be honest. At the same time, he's not even sure how to explain it if he could.

Has he ever kept a secret from his mom? Yes and no.

(Yes.)

But he doesn't want Richie to look at him any different.

He tries again. "I—" He chickens out. "No. Actually, it's just my mom. Dad's gone, so it's just her, and she knows... everything about me."

To be fair, it's not a total lie. His mother always found out everything in the end, whether he wanted her to or not. Sometimes, Eddie worried that Sonia Kaspbrak knew him better than he knew himself. That she would always know him better than he knew himself. That she would always be right about him. He's never done anything to prove her otherwise. He's a loser, a sidekick.

He's exactly as she expected—small, weak, pathetic, helpless.

"Oh." Richie's voice takes on an unusual somber note for him. He's quiet. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"It's ok. It was a long time ago. My dad—he lost his life in, y'know, our line of work. And my mom doesn't have any powers. Which I'm sure explains a lot, with, uh. Me. I know I'm kinda new at this whole thing. I'm sorry if the whole thing at Bill's place is something I should've expected, I've never had a friend with two superhero parents before, or _any_ superhero parents. I guess I just haven't been involved in this world long enough, so… I guess what I'm trying to say is… thanks for not treating me like I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot, Eds!" His eyes are wide, earnest.

He manages a small smile. "Thanks, Rich."

"Wait, so your mom never told you anything? Anything at all?"

Eddie shakes his head and shrugs. "How could she? She's not super."

"Come on, I don't buy that. She's gotta know something! She can't just keep you in the dark like that!" says Richie incredulously. He laughs. "I mean, for fuck's sake, she fucked a superhero and had a kid with him!"

Eddie wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Gross, dude! Look, my mom thinks superhero work is reckless and dangerous, ok?"

"That's probably the impression she got when she was in bed with me—"

"Dude!" Eddie smacks his arm.

"Kidding! Just tryna lighten the mood."

"This better not turn into a thing with you. That's my mom, jackass!"

"Ok!" says Richie through a laugh. "But I just think it's kinda messed up for her to hide this entire side of you. Sure, it's a risky line of work, but it's not about the job. It's a part of who you are! I mean, what was she gonna do once you finally got your powers?"

Eddie shrugs. "She was probably hoping I'd never get powers. I bet that'd be a dream come true for her. 'Course, when that day finally came, she had to tell me _something_. I mean, you've seen what I can do. It's not much, but you can't exactly explain it away, can you? God, I had to _beg_ her to let me go to this school. Full-on begged. I bargained with her for so long about it, now I have chores 'til the end of time. It's stupid, I know, but—why are you looking at me like that?"

He's only just noticing that Richie is staring at him with this weird, soft expression on his face.

"Huh?" Realizing what he's doing, Richie shakes his head. "I—No reason. You were saying?"

"Oh, um… I guess…" It feels weird to pick up where he left off after their moment, but he tries anyway. "Well, Stan's the reason I know anything at all. He was a good friend. Ya know, when he could be. But she—Mom—really didn't like me hanging out with him."

Richie laughs. "Like any parent has anything to worry about by letting their kid hang out with _Stan_."

Eddie laughs as well. "Yeah…"

Good ol' Stan.

"He's a good buddy to have, though. He cracks me up." Richie's smile is fond. "I'm glad he was there for you. He'll look out for you. He's a stand-up guy like that."

"Yeah, he really is," says Eddie, but a thought nags at the back of his mind. "Richie… Do you think if we'd met before sidekick class, we would've been friends?"

"You and me?" says Richie. "Eds, how could you ask that? Of course, dude. What's not to like? I—I'll always be here for you."

"Thanks… I—That means a lot. This is just—just totally different from what I expected."

"It's not all like that," says Richie. "A lot of people are actually decent, you just have to find them. Bill's family is just old fashioned. I guess it's totally different when you have superhero parents. I bet they expect a lot out of you, ya know? Poor Bill, I dunno what the fuck I'd do if my parents treated me like that. I mean, my dad's just an ordinary dentist. And my mom—well, she used to be a sidekick before she retired. I guess I have it pretty easy, huh? She always said it'd be ok, no matter what I am, but I dunno…" He sighs. "I still kinda feel like I let them down."

Richie's always been pretty good at putting on a good front, but the way he's talking could break Eddie's heart. He has to say something. "Oh, well… I dunno. If I were them, I'd be proud of you."

Richie smiles and pats him on the back. "Thanks, Eddie Spaghetti. You're alright."

The words come spilling out, unfiltered.

"I mean, you can't be a bigger let-down than me. The longer I stay, the more I think I'm disappointing her, which is crazy! Because it's supposed to be the other way around, right? You become a hero, or hero support, or whatever, and that's supposed to be a reason for them to be proud of you! But the more time goes by, the more I think she's just expecting me to give up eventually and come back home. She probably expected it to happen by now."

Eddie frowns.

"I… I hate saying it, but I think she's looking forward to picking up the pieces if I get my heart broken, ya know? She's always said I don't belong in that world. She'd cry and cry and say stuff like, 'How can people expect you to save them when you can't even breathe right!' I don't know, Ma. I don't know. I can't help what I want, I guess."

Silence, then Eddie admits, "Maybe she's right. I mean, what good am I really for?"

He can hear his mother's voice in his head.

_You don't understand, Eddie-bear._

_You can't go out there._

_I have to look out for you._

_You're so fragile._

_You wouldn't survive._

_You're not like the other kids._

_You're_ different _._

Richie's voice, and his hands—grasping firmly at his shoulders—brings him back.

" _Fuck_ that! You belong just as much as any big-headed dipshit in hero class, if not more! You belong with—with us! So it's dangerous! Eds, you're braver than you think. You're more than brave, you're smart and selfless and all kinds of heroic-type adjectives, so you're exactly hero material!"

No one has ever believed in him before.

"But my mom—"

"What does she know? Who is she to stop you?"

Eddie can feel himself getting choked up. "Richie, I—"

Richie pats him on the back. "Hang in there. It's just high school. Then you're free to do whatever the fuck you want."

Eddie doesn't respond. They walk in silence for several minutes. He normally enjoys how Richie prefers to fill the awkward silences with chatter, but there are times like these where they're just content to be each other's presence. He's grateful. Richie's given him a lot to think about. Then he says, "What's the word for people who are really fast?"

Richie shoots him a quizzical look. "What's that got to do with—"

"I'm getting there. But someone who is really fast, like, super-speed level fast. There's a word for that, isn't there?"

"'Speedster'?"

Eddie nods. Truthfully, he has no idea, but it sounds right. "I wish I was a speedster," he says, wistful. "Then I could just run. God, I don't even know where I would go, I just… wish it."

And he wishes he could take Richie with him.

The street lamps have kept the path pretty well-lit during their walk, but reaching the end of the block where they part ways, there's a broken lamp. After Eddie has already waved goodbye, he looks back one last time. In the dark, Richie Tozier lights up like a star.

—

Things are different after that night.

Unfortunately for the Losers, once Bill gets sorted into the sidekick class, Bowers and Hockstetter rescind their deal to cut Bill and his friends any slack.

"Give it back!"

As the Losers step off the bus, the same boy that was getting harrassed by Bowers and his gang on the first day gets his mp3 and headphones snatched up by a long striped arm. He makes a grab for it, but it's too late. Hockstetter retracts his arm, jeering at the boy as Bowers races around in circles, wearing his headphones.

"C-C'mon guys," says Bill. "Give the g-g-guy his—his headphones."

Bowers skids to a stop. "Sorry, you s-s-say s-something, B-B-B-Billy?"

"You heard him," says Mike. "Those don't belong to you."

"Denbrough, keep your boyfriend on a leash, will you?"

"T-Take it back."

"What?"

Stan has to restrain Bill by the arm to keep from jumping them. "I said f-f-fuck—fucking t-t-t-take it back! D-Don’t you t-t-talk—talk t-to him like that. S-Say you’re sorry!”

"Bill—" warns Mike.

"Oh, this is the out-of-towner boyfriend? Now I get it!" says Hockstetter, guffawing with laughter. "Look at him. Now I get why he can talk to animals!" he says, to which Bowers responds with laughter of his own.

The grass around Mike dries out, turning an ugly shade of yellow, any flowers within radius wilting.

"You know what?" says Hockstetter. "You're the sidekick. Give the kid his headphones." Instead of handing them back, he feigns a couple throws before tossing the entire thing into a nearby puddle of grass and mud.

Bowers laughs, the two of them sauntering away. "Catch you later, Denbrough."

The boy picks up his damp, muddy headphones and frowns. "Thanks, Bill."

"I—I didn't know they were g-gonna d-do—do that to your stuff, uh…"

"Ben."

Bill nods. "Ben. S-Sorry that they—"

"It's ok."

"Do you need a new one?" Bill gestures to the mp3.

Ben shrugs. "It's busted, but I could probably make a new one."

Mike's holding his arm the way he always does when he's upset about something.

"Are you alright?" asks Stan, approaching him and putting a hand on his shoulder with a concerned expression.

Mike nods, but his expression is still vacant.

"It's not worth it, Bill. Now they're just gonna be after you, too."

Richie shudders.

"Thanks for sticking up for me," says Ben. "I'm sorry they said that to you."

"I'm used to it," says Mike.

"Hey, Ben?" says Bill.

"Yeah?"

"W-Would you like t-to have lunch with us?" he asks.

Ben's face lights up. "Sure!"

They're at lunch when Richie spots Bill across the cafeteria. "Hey, saved you a seat!" he says, waving him over.

There's a weird energy hanging over them, like everyone is desperate to return to a sense of normalcy.

Stan stands up, smiling. "And I saved you a pudding!" he says proudly, holding it up.

In a blur and a gust of air, the pudding is snatched from his hand. Half a second later, Bowers is standing across the cafeteria where he wasn't before. Sure enough, he's holding a pudding in his bad. Hockstetter taps Bowers on the shoulder, mischievous grin on his face.

Eddie picks up on what's going on—can see the striped arm snaking between legs, both of the table and human persuasion, heading right for Bill—just before it happens. Bill is oblivious, heading right for their table. Eddie opens his mouth to warn him, but it's too late. Hockstetter grabs Bill by the ankle, who trips and dumps his entire lunch all over a brooding Beverly Marsh.

Beverly rises to her feet.

"S-S-S-S-Sorry…" says Bill.

She glares down at him, and it only occurs to Eddie now that she's actually a good deal taller than Bill. "You will be." She is seething.

Bill tries to stammer an apology, but it's no use.

"You think you can do whatever you want just because you're name is Denbrough?"

"Look, I'm s-sorry-sorry my dad put your dad in jail, and for—for whatever pain my family caused yours—"

Wrong move.

"What did you just say?" asks Beverly, stepping to him so that she's right in his face.

"Your family. Beverly, I'm so, s-s-s-so s-sorry ab-b-bout—about whatever happened to your parents—"

"'Whatever happened'?" she demands, grabbing Bill by the shirt. "Nobody talks about my family."

Her hands go up in flames.

Bill cries out, prying himself from her grasp. Several of the students gasp, already crowding around the two of them. The chanting starts, ready for a fight.

Bill makes a run for the fire alarm, dodging another one of Beverly's fireballs, but Hockstetter can't leave well enough alone. He jumps on the opportunity to trip him _again_ , and Bill comes crashing down, leaving him splayed out on the cafeteria floor.

Beverly keeps throwing fireballs at him, and Bill ducks under the nearest table. Every time she throws another one, it narrowly misses him, until they've both reached the end of the table.

"Where's your sidekick, sidekick?" demands Beverly.

"Right here!" says Ben, in a move that Eddie would describe both as very brave and very stupid.

His voice catching Beverly's attention, she turns her gaze to the Losers, arms still up in flames.

Stan melts.

They hear Bill's voice from under the table.

"Leave... them... alone!"

To the entire room's astonishment, Bill lifts the table—and Beverly Marsh—up in the air, above his head. Finally able to get a look at his expression, Bill looks about as shocked as the crowd of students surrounding the fight.

Mike looks like Bill's just hung the stars in the sky. His face lights up in the most adoring smile. "He's _strong_."

"I'm strong?" Bill asks through a breathless, disbelieving laugh, eyes on Mike.

"He's _super_ strong," says Stan.

Eddie can't blame them. Watching Bill, even Eddie's a little bit in love right now.

He throws the table aside. Beverly crashes through a set of cafeteria chairs, buying him enough time to turn to Bowers and Hockstetter who are staring at the wreckage in shock.

"Now. Who tripped me?" asks Bill. Not even a stutter.

Bowers bolts—a blur and he's gone. Hockstetter grabs a light fixture up on the cafeteria ceiling and holds on for dear life.

Bill isn't given much time because Beverly is back, entire arms up in flames. Thankfully, Bill can hold his own, but even Eddie and other Losers are a little frightened when he's strong enough to punch her through the cafeteria wall. Surely, she can't survive that. They're checking up on Bill to see if he's ok when they hear a voice from behind.

"Think I can't take a hit?"

This time, the flame is big enough that Eddie can feel the burning heat from across the cafeteria. As if two of the same mind, Bill looks to Mike, who tosses him the fire extinguisher. He fumbles with the handle as she gets closer, closer, closer, until he finally relents and just tears the lid off with his bare hands.

The entire contents of the canister dumps out onto Beverly Marsh, more than enough to put her out, which saves him in the moment. The Losers can breathe while everyone else gets over their disappointment.

However, Bill doesn't get off scot-free because both parties end up in detention.

Eddie frowns as the two kids are escorted away. "I hope they're ok..." he says, wringing his hands.

He knows that he probably should care more about his friend, but the sickening crunch as Bill had thrown Beverly through the wall wasn't easy for him to forget. She's may technically be on the hero track, but that doesn't mean she's invulnerable.

It's in his nature. He's a compulsive worrier.

Of course, his worries are alleviated by the next day. Beverly is fine, if a little banged up, and Bill is the talk of the school. He's like a celebrity.

He is also, as Richie would say, "in deep shit," but the school can't be too mad if they transfer him to the hero track.

Walking into class, Richie gives Bill a high five. "Dude, you made sidekick history!"

Bill smiles sheepishly and shrugs. "Well, I d-don't know about that—"

The other Losers clamor around him.

"From now on, heroes mess with us at their own peril," says Stan, who sounds like he's relishing the idea of having a super tough, super strong, super invulnerable bestie.

"You're breaking down barriers, Bill!" says Mike. "You're proving that we're not heroes and sidekicks. We're just people."

" _Super_ people."

The bell rings, and everyone scurries to their assigned seats.

"Alright class, everything off your desks except for a pen and paper, time for a pop quiz on motorcycle sidecar basics. Except for you, Mr. Denbrough, you've got a new class schedule."

Bill gets up, brow furrowed as he approaches the teacher's desk in confusion and curiosity.

"Congrats, you've just been transferred over to the hero course."

Bill's eyes light up, jumping right away to grab his new schedule. Glancing down at the paper in his hands, realization seems to sink in as he looks back at his friends, and his expression falls. "But what about—?" he asks, the words dying on his lips.

Richie pipes up. "It's ok!" he says, eager to reassure his friend. "We can still hang outside of class."

"We'll still save you a seat at lunch!" says Stan.

"Well, we will as long as we get out unscathed without anyone's head getting dunked in the toilet," says Eddie.

Bill hesitates, looking to Mike like he's hoping for some sort of final protest.

Mike doesn't object. He just smiles, eyes shining with pride and just a tinge of sadness. "Just go already."

Bill gives the Losers one last look, and then he moves on.

—

Figures. Even with Bill's new powers, Bowers and Hockstetter still can't leave them alone.

The inside of a locker isn't too cramped when you're the size of a guinea pig, otherwise, he'd definitely be having a panic attack.

"Bill!" He can hear Stan cry out.

"Guys, come on." Bill's voice. "Are we really doing this?"

There's the sound of a locker opening.

Eddie squeaks, desperate to catch somebody's attention.

"And Eddie."

The locker swings open, and Eddie hops down and scurries out. He scampers over to Bill and hides behind his leg.

A pause. Hockstetter exhales, leaning against a locker that is emitting a faint, green light. Bill waits patiently, but he doesn't move.

"Richie, too."

Hockstetter sighs and opens the locker.

Richie worms his way out of the cramped space. "Not so tough when my boy's around, are ya—" he begins, but falters under the look Hockstetter gives him, and Richie flinches.

"Oh, you just think you're so big and bad, don't you, Denbrough?" says Hockstetter.

"No, that's n-not—"

"You better watch yourself," says Bowers, pointing a finger at him. "That big mouth is gonna get you in a lot of trouble.

"I didn't s-s-s-s- _say_ any—!"

"Well, why don't we settle this in P.E.?" says Bowers. "You versus us. Save the Citizen."

" _Why_?"

"You're on," says Richie. "If Bill beats you at Save the Citizen, then you have to leave us sidekicks alone for the rest of the year!"

"And if we win, looks like we're dunking this kid's head in the toilet until graduation," says Bowers, gone in a flash, reappearing behind Stan to knock his head.

"Deal!" says Richie.

"Yeah!" says Stan, ducking his head and jumping away from Bowers. The specifics of the deal must've taken a minute to sink in because his eyes go wide and he turns to Richie. " _Huh_?" he demands.

Bowers smirks. "Oh, it's on."

Once Bowers and Hockstetter are gone, Bill turns to face the other Losers.

"Guys! No freshman ever won Save the Citizen, and those guys are undefeated!"

"And you barely know how to use your powers!" says Stan.

Bill gapes at him.

"Sorry, not helping."

Eddie shivers and squeaks again.

Richie glances down at his feet. "Oh, there you are!" He crouches down, and Eddie jumps up into his open hand. Richie stands up, holding Eddie close to his chest. “Didn’t see you there.” His smile falls when he looks back at Bill. "Bill, you have no choice," he says, the severity of his expression undercut by the way he's brushing Eddie's fur. "You can't let them dunk Stan's head in the toilet. Not again. The dunking must end."

Bill sighs.

—

"You have three minutes to save the citizen, and immobilize your opponents."

Bill Denbrough and Beverly Marsh vs. Henry Bowers and Patrick Hockstetter.

Hockstetter extends his arm like a slingshot and sends Bowers bouncing around the rink like the world's largest pinball, knocking Beverly and Bill off their feet. From the minute their bodies hit the floor with sickening thuds, it's clear this isn't going to be easy.

However, it's unclear whether he and Beverly Marsh are a match made in heaven or still mortal enemies because pairing them together was Bowers' and Hockstetter's biggest mistake.

Besides, they’re so fixated on the “hating each other” thing that they completely discount the whole “Beverly can shoot flames from her hands” thing. And that’s a pretty big thing.

Eddie has no clue how Bowers and Hockstetter can get away with playing as the villains every single time and not a single faculty member bats an eye. He can't be the only whose alarm bells are raised, right?

It's pretty satisfying when Beverly torches Hockstetter's arms, even more so when he cries to the coach to call a foul and is met with radio silence and laughter.

Bill manages to hold his own, earth-shattering punch to the ground sending Speed and Lash flying, and then he gets Hockstetter literally tied up against the telephone pole.

To counter, Bowers goes after Beverly. He completely encircles her in a tornado, depleting her of oxygen. The tactic is obvious. No oxygen? No flame.

Only he doesn't stop, and as Eddie watches in horror as Beverly fall to her knees, it becomes apparent that Beverly could actually _die_.

Thankfully, Bill is Bill—heroic, brave, strong, and he never leaves a teammate in distress.

The countdown clock goes off just as Beverly catches the citizen and collapses to the ground, winning the match at the last possible second.

Watching Beverly and Bill in the arena, Eddie has to admit the two of them make a great team.

Bill's first priority is Beverly, offering a hand to help her up, but she just pushes past him.

The Losers cheer, lost in the crowd as it swarms Bill. They couldn't get within a foot of him if they tried.

Just beyond the mass of excited students, Eddie spots Beverly hop the arena fence and slink off into the distance without a word, in complete solitude.

Bowers and Hockstetter don't take loss very well.

—

It's lunch, and Eddie's sitting out on a secluded lawn near the back entrance of the school with Richie—who has graciously agreed to help him study for their sixth period quiz by running through flashcards together.

(Flashcards that Eddie made, obviously. Richie doesn't do flashcards, which is irritating because he still manages to be smart without studying.)

Normally, freshmen weren't allowed to leave the cafeteria during lunch period, but they'd snuck out because the pair of them agreed they could really use the alone time to study in peace. The cafeteria was much too rowdy, and Eddie knows he's not prepared for this quiz, so he's using the opportunity to cram in as much information as possible.

Richie holds up a card.

"Exposure to gamma radiation." He knows that one right away.

"Right-o!" says Richie, and Eddie feels a surge of satisfaction. He holds up another flashcard.

He pauses. "Vat of toxic waste?" Less sure.

"Ding ding ding!"

New card.

Damn it. They just went over this, too. He's pretty sure he knows this one, but— "Radioactive Insects."

"Hm… I'll allow it," says Richie. "Can you be more specific?"

"In what way?"

"What type of insect?"

"Uh… Spider?"

"There it is."

"You shouldn't have given me a pass," says Eddie sternly. "I'd definitely be knocked half a point for that. Spiders aren't insects."

"I'm being generous!" says Richie, tweaking Eddie's nose, and Eddie scowls in response.

"Being generous isn't gonna help me. No shortcuts."

Richie rolls his eyes. "Alright, alright."

"I mean it, Rich. I can't be let off easy. I don't wanna fall behind."

"Ok!" says Richie. "Ok. Message received, Spaghetti. Don't worry, I hear you."

"Thank you."

"Next one." New card.

"Fuck… I know this," says Eddie. He doesn't know it. He takes a wild guess. "Cursed amulet."

Richie makes a buzzer noise. "Sorry! The correct answer was 'bestowed by a wizard'."

"Oh, fuck you," says Eddie. "That's not a real thing, you're just making it up!" He makes a grab for the card, but Richie holds it out of reach.

"I swear on my life, Eds."

"Yeah, right!" says Eddie, straining his arm as far as it can go, still fighting for it.

Richie fends him off, holding him at arm's length. "You're gonna have to trust me!"

Eddie collapses into Richie's lap, devolving into a fit of giggles.

The back entrance to the school bursts open wide, and Bill bursts through, carrying Ben who is covered in blood and grime.

"Jesus fuck!" says Richie. "Bill? Is that—What happened?"

He and Eddie jump up to help right away, but it looks like Bill has it covered.

"Bowers happened," says Stan, who along with Mike is close behind Bill.

"Bowers did _this_?" says Eddie.

"Holy shit," says Richie under his breath. "So Speed and Lash have gone from tripping people in the caf to straight-up carving people like a Thanksgiving turkey?"

"Oh, this is nothing, you should see the other guy," says Mike, and Eddie can see the apparent admiration in his eyes as he glances over at Bill. Realizing what he's actually saying with that statement, he stammers, "I mean, sorry, uh—Ben. It's not nothing, it's—"

"S'okay," he gasps out, very pale in the face.

"Good thing Bill was there," says Stan.

" _Again_ ," grumbles Ben, and maybe it's Eddie's imagination, but there's a guilty note to his tone.

"Why?" says Eddie. "Will somebody tell us what the fuck is going on?"

"Same shit as usual," says Mike. "Bowers and Hockstetter thinking they own the place. Apparently they don't take well to losing. They're just pissed they can't get away with it anymore with Bill around. Now c'mon!"

—

"I think it's great that we're helping out the new kid, but we also need to think about our own safety. I mean, he's bleeding all over, and you guys know there's an AIDS epidemic happening right now, as we speak, right? And my mom's friend i-in New York City got it just by touching a dirty pole in the subway. And enough AIDS blood got into her system from a hangnail—a hangnail! And—And you can amputate legs and arms, but—but how do you amputate a wai—HOW DO YOU AMPUTATE A _WAIST_? You guys do know you can get AIDS from dirty needles, right? You—"

Eddie's still going as the others set Ben down on a bench outside the nurse's office.

"I'm glad I got to meet you before you died," says Richie, and Ben looks up at him quizzically.

He turns to the others, waving them away so that they're out of earshot, lowering his voice so that Ben can't hear. "What the fuck are we gonna do?"

"Take him to the nurse's office?" suggests Stan, tone suggesting that it should be obvious.

Ben frowns. "But Big Bill—"

"You d-d-don't need to p-protect me," says Bill. "I—I'll be f-f-f-fine, I s-swear. Even if I'm already in a load of shit." He mutters the last part.

"I mean, are you sure?" asks Mike. "I really think we should take you. We have a school nurse, I'm sure they could do a much better—"

"Nurse Keene?" asks Ben. He shakes his head vigorously. "Oh no. If Greta—"

"Are you kidding?" says Richie. "Keene isn't even a healer, not knocking x-ray vision but the school's actual attention given to safety is about zilch. If they cared about us we'd have a real healer in the faculty. Was Greta involved, too? Sounds like something she'd do."

"I'll be ok," says Ben. "I promise. Everyone knows she's friends with Speed and Lash, it's not worth it. I—I just need a bandage! Just something to tide me over. Once I have the right components, I can definitely makeshift an acceleration patch that'll speed up my recovery time."

"You can do that?" asks Stan.

"Y-Yeah," says Ben. "I'm a technopath, it's kind of my specialty. It's not as cool as it seems, it's not a healing machine, it can only speed up a process that's already in progress, so it does need to be properly treated for the start."

"Which means what exactly?"

"Oh, the main hitch is that with my limitations it's only effective on small measures, and I can maybe squeeze out, hm… a handful of uses before the core deteriorates? But the origins of the device actually revolutionized healing technology, and it all started right here in Derry, believe it or not! The history of it is actually really interesting if you want—"

"Yeah, I _glow_ ," says Richie with an apologetic shrug. He's fidgeting in place, jittering his leg and looking around anxiously. "So as much as I really wanna share your enthusiasm, I have no idea what you're talking about, and I don't know if you noticed, but you're currently leaking Hamburger Helper. You're gonna have to walk me through this."

"Ok. Do you know where the metal shop is?" asks Ben, patient. Richie nods. "There's a half-finished anti-gravity ray and a homing device in the locker with my name on it. You get that, and a heat-core, and I can make it work."

"Yeah, but are you ok with doing this?" says Stan. "I mean, those are your projects. You shouldn't take them apart."

"It's ok. I don't want anyone in trouble on my account. We're friends now. You stick up for me, I stick up for you."

Stan frowns. "That's not fair. You weren't even involved in the fight. None of you were! Bill was just defending you. I mean, it was barely a fight to beg—"

"Stan, who do you think they're gonna believe?" says Richie. "Bill's already in enough trouble as it is, and when has the faculty at this fucked up school ever been on a sidekick's side? Especially when the son of the coach is the one we're up against!" He hisses then last part under his breath, despite the fact that no one is around.

"Fuck," mutters Eddie. He didn't even think of that. "Shit. God fucking damn it. Do you really think we're gonna get in trouble?" he asks, unable to help the panic rising in his voice as he rambles. "I mean, it's not just Bill, we're all complicit now, and we're not supposed to be out here at all, and the minute faculty finds out we—that freshman—that _sidekicks_ are using their powers outside of class, we're all in for it. I—I can't afford to—"

"No one is getting in trouble, Eds," says Richie. He nods slowly as he recalls, "Anti-gravity ray, homing device, heat core. Got it." And he dashes off to the metal shop.

"Eddie, d-d-doesn't the nurse hold your m-medi—medication?" asks Bill. "C-Can't you just stop by the nurse's office today? You know what he might need, right—?"

Eddie protests, not letting him finish. "No way! If my mom finds out I was in the nurse's office, I'll spend the rest of the weekend in the emergency room getting x-rayed. If she even _thinks_ I got hurt, I'm getting pulled out of school for sure."

They're so caught up in their planning that they nearly run into Beverly Marsh—who is scrambling to throw something on the ground and holding something else behind her back.

Bill's eyes go wide. "Y-Y-You ok?" he asks.

"I'm fine," snaps Beverly, but she's stamping something beneath her foot. "What's wrong with you?"

"None of your business—" says Stan, but Eddie cuts him off, blurting it out before he can think twice.

"There's a kid outside, looks like someone killed him."

He feels small under her suspicious gaze, but he watches her apprehensively, bracing himself for her answer.

He doesn't know what compels him to say it, or to reveal so much to someone he barely knows. Maybe he's just desperate for help—any sort of help—and is willing to chance anything that won't end up with his mom withdrawing him from the one place he actually belongs. Maybe the whole deer-caught-in-the-headlights look made her less intimidating than usual. Maybe she's an outsider, too, and a small part of him thinks they can trust her. Or wants to trust her, despite the risk.

"You're right, it is none of my business, but can't you just take him to the office?" asks Bev.

"It's—It's complicated—" says Bill, but Beverly doesn't let him finish.

"I wasn't talking to you, Denbrough." She glares at him. Clearly, her grudge still stands.

"Look," says Mike, even-tempered under pressure. "We need supplies to help him is all. We just don't want to call any attention to the situation 'cause of the whole freshman 'no powers outside the school gym' rule."

Beverly doesn't answer.

"Please, Beverly?" says Mike. "We won't bother you anymore. Just—don't say anything, alright?"

Bev eyes them warily. "Ok. I can do better than that."

They reach an unspoken arrangement where Beverly distracts Nurse Keene long enough for the boys to sneak out supplies from the office. More precisely, she flirts with him, and even though Eddie doesn't catch all of it, the way Keene just plays along makes him sick to his stomach. In that moment, hearing the nurse imply she's the Lois Lane to his Clark Kent, Eddie knows that no matter what terms she's on with Bill, he can't bring himself to hate her. He can't even dislike her. Beverly Marsh is a goddamn saint. He doesn't have much time to ponder—while Keene is picking up a stack of papers Beverly's knocked to the floor, he catches her glancing back at them as they scurry out the door.

Richie is waiting with Ben by the time they get back, and Ben is already engrossed in dissembling the different parts from his devices. Once they're outside, Eddie grabs the disinfectant and the gauze, trying to concentrate even with Richie's commentary over his shoulder.

"Just suck the wound—"

"I need to focus right now!" says Eddie, face scrunched up in concentration as he tends to Ben. He doesn't mean to snap, but he's shit at multitasking.

"You need to focus?" asks Richie, tone already softer, more helpful.

"Yeah, can you get me something?" he asks.

"Oh, what do you need?" says Richie, and if he wasn't focused on Ben, it would be amusing how he changes his tune almost immediately.

"Hand me my bifocals. I hid them in my second fanny pack."

"Why do you have two fanny packs?" asks Stan.

Richie laughs, but he's already grabbed Eddie's backpack and unzipped it, rummaging through the contents for Eddie's glasses. "You have to suck the wound before you apply the bandaid, this is 101—"

"Richie!" says Eddie—simultaneously amused and frustrated. "Jesus, you don't know what you're talking about—"

Eddie's too distracted—too caught up in his argument with Richie and trying to patch up the new kid to even notice Beverly approaching.

"Ben from Soc?" she asks, and when Eddie glances back at her she's actually smiling for once. It's almost like she's happy to see him. Eyes drifting to the wound, she gasps. "Who did this to you?" she demands, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Oh!" says Ben, face lighting up when he sees Beverly—which is weird because nobody's face lights up when they see _Beverly Marsh_. "No—No one. I just… fell."

Richie scoffs. "Yeah, right into Henry Bowers—"

Bill cuts him off. "Sh-Shut it, R-Richie! It's n-nothing."

"Why? It's the truth!"

"Those assholes," she mutters under her breath.

"What's got you feeling all righteous all of a sudden?" asks Stan.

She scowls, picking at her fingernails. "I don't like arrogant dickweeds. Bowers did almost kill me."

"Yeah, don't they know you're the only one allowed to be intimidating around here?" says Richie with an amused smirk. "They're totally stealing thunder away from your whole schtick."

"Beep beep, Richie," hisses Stan under his breath.

Beverly snorts. "Don't try to be cute with me. Denbrough, you're lucky I have a sense of humor."

"I d-didn't say anything!" says Bill.

Beverly ignores Bill, scanning Ben up and down. "What do think, New Kid?" she asks. "You sure they got the… _right stuff_ to fix you up?" she asks, like it's some kind of an inside joke between the two of them, and then winks.

Ben blushes, opening his mouth in a way that makes it look like he's about to say something before changing his mind.

"So, Bowers and his goons, huh? What, have they taken the next step, not quite satisfied with dunking sidekicks' heads in the toilet?" Beverly pulls out a cigarette, putting it between her lips. "You're a big boy, aren't you, Denbrough?" she says, voice slightly muffled. "Can't you just stave them off?'

"That's the problem," says Stan. "If the teachers find out that we… Well…"

Mike finishes the sentence for him. "—that _Bill_ was defending him, it's just gonna open up all sorts of questions."

"Yeah, like 'why is there a huge gaping hole where the wall of our science building is supposed to be'?" says Richie, snickering, and Eddie bites back a laugh, pretending to still be focused on tending to Ben.

Bill shushes him. "Richie!"

However, Beverly chuckles, nodding and opening her mouth in an "o" of recognition. "So you're protecting Denbrough."

"Not necessarily!" says Mike, flustered. "It's just—"

"It's the principle of the thing," says Stan evenly.

"Yes, exactly!"

"Oh, I see what this is," says Bev. She snaps her fingers, igniting a small flame that lights her cigarette. "Y'know I was gonna say, it's almost refreshing to see someone take a stand against Bowers and Hockstetter, but this is just Big Bill Denbrough playing hero again. I'm sure the school will eat that shit up."

"Kinda the opposite, actually," says Bill. "I'm alr-re-ready in hot water f-for—Well..." He goes red.

An awkward silence, as everyone recalls The Cafeteria Incident.

Beverly purses her lips and nods. "Got it. Well, hang tough, New Kid. As for you, Denbrough, don't mention it. As in, really, _don't_ mention it. I—" She hesitates. "I'll see you around." She turns to leave.

"W-W-Wait!" says Bill. "Don't we owe you?"

She hesitates. "Look, don't be all weird about this, ok? This is perfect. Now you don't have to hang Save the Citizen over my head. You got me, I got you. No more debts. Now we're officially square."

"Right," says Bill as nods slowly, but he frowns, brow furrowed in a puzzled expression. "G-Guess so."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be." She offers a half-hearted wave before stalking off.

"Thanks!" calls Bill after her.

She doesn't look back. "Don't think too much of it!"

The Losers watch her leave. Richie snickers. "Dude, she full-on hates you."

Bill groans. "I know."

"And if she didn't have reason to before, she does now," says Stan. "Since you kinda threw her through the cafeteria wall."

"I _know!_ " says Bill again. "I know, ok?"

Richie claps his hands together. "Now, pip-pip and tally-ho good fellows! I do believe this chap requires our utmost attention!" Not the British Guy again. He claps Eddie on the shoulder. "Get in there, Doctor K! C'mon, fix him up!"

Eddie rolls his eyes, but smiles. That's just Richie doing what Richie does best—diverting attention to himself, keeping things light. "Why don't you shut the fuck up, Einstein? 'Cause I know what I'm doing, and I don't want you doing the British Guy with me right now—"

"Suck the wound! Get in there!" says Richie, and Eddie snorts.

Ben watched Eddie silently as he disinfects the wound. "Thank you," he mutters softly.

Eddie hesitates before answering. He tries to remember the last time someone thanked him for, well, _anything_.

"Don't thank me," he says sternly, even as his ears turn pink. "Bill's the hero."

"All the same," says Ben. "Thank you, all of you. For saving me. "

"It's nothing," says Eddie before he can stop himself. But to him, it _is_ nothing. It's not noteworthy. It's not heroism—it's what any sane, decent person would do. "If anything, I should be thanking you. It—It's complicated, but I really can't afford getting into any trouble, so… I'm sorry. I'm sorry that this is the best I can do. You should be seeing a proper healer right now."

"Don't apologize!" says Ben. "I'd be so dead if it weren't for—I owe you."

"I—I don't like this," mutters Stan. "Bowers and Hockstetter getting downright violent. I mean, they were supposed to honor the agreement. Bill wins, and they leave us alone—"

"Yeah, look how that turned out," says Richie.

"But this just seems extreme," says Stan. "Do you think something else is going on?"

"What, like, some sort of conspiracy?" asks Eddie.

Bill nods. "They're up t-to something. I c-can f-f-f-feel it."

"You're not saying they have anything to do with Geor—with the missing kids in Derry?" asks Eddie.

"I d-don't know."

"Bill, you can keep an eye on them, can't you?" asks Mike. "I mean, it's not like they're gonna be bothering you anymore."

"I—I p-probably should, huh?" says Bill. "J-Just to make sure. Especially if that has s-something t-to—to do with the dis—disappearances."

"Wish Bowers would go missing," mutters Richie.

Eddie stares at the gashes on Ben's stomach. He hates agreeing, but if Bowers is stooping this low? "I bet he's the one doing it."

"Well, if they're dipping into straight-up supervillainy," says Richie. "I hate to go all buddy-system on you guys, but we are just a bunch of sidekicks. Anyways, Ben, it's not about owing, so put it from your mind. Losers look out for one another, ya know?"

Stan facepalms. "How delicately put," he says dryly. "Come on, Rich, the kid looks like he just got mauled, the least you could do is say something that isn't backhanded."

"Fuck me," he mutters. "Now I look like a jackass."

"'Look like'?" quips Eddie before he can help himself, small smile even as he says it. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Rich. You were already a jackass to begin with."

"I didn't mean it like—It was supposed to be all heartwarming and profound and shit! Ben, back me up here. You got the point, didn't you?"

Ben laughs. "You're funny, you know that? You guys are funny," he says, which catches Richie so off-guard that it shocks him into silence. But he blushes, looking pleased with himself. It occurs to Eddie that this is not a boy used to praise. He's never seen a bashful Richie before—the guy doesn't even know what to do with himself.

"You're not a jackass, Rich," says Eddie softly. "Just like you're not a loser, Ben."

"It's ok," says Ben. "I am a loser." When he sees Eddie open his mouth to protest, he says, "No, I am. Really. It's ok. I'm kinda used to being on my own, so… if being a loser means looking out for one another, than I'd rather be a loser than alone, right?"

Richie pats him on the shoulder. "Join the club, buddy."

Thankfully, Ben takes the invitation a little too literally because from that point onward the Losers have an additional member to their club.

—

Of course, every club needs a clubhouse, so one day after school, Ben surprises them with one out in the Derry woods, and it's kind of the greatest grand gesture in the history of grand gestures.

"You have a _handprint scanner_?" cries Stan in disbelief, about as excited as Stan can get. "How did you even—"

"Yeah!" says Ben. "Programmed for Losers only!"

"But that's, like, real superhero tech stuff," says Stan. He squints, scrutinizing the handprint pad closely.

"Try it, see for yourself!"

Stan puts his hand to the scanner, and the door opens out from underneath them.

The Losers _ooh_ and _aw_ in appreciation.

They hop down.

"You did this?" asks Mike, gaping open-mouthed in amazement. "I've never met a technopath before, this is..."

Naturally, Eddie is too busy mentally cataloging all the ways he could die in this _underground pit_ to praise him just yet.

"What the dick is this?" asks Richie. "How did you build it?"

"Just, y'know, with... _stuff_ lying around. From the labs, and shops and—yeah. What do you think?" asks Ben, as the others take it in with wide-eyed, awed expressions. "It's the prototype for a real secret sanctum. Pretty good for my first time, huh?" Ben beams with pride.

He leans on a nearby support beam.

There's the sound of a sickening crack, and Stan jumps back in fright, melting into a puddle on the floor. Eddie squeaks, suddenly feeling very small and frightened.

Eddie scurries into the shadows, as far away from the noise as possible. He's shivering.

A panel falls from the ceiling—which only serves to confirm all of Eddie's worst suspicions. This place is dangerous. He should be smug, sure. But mostly it just sucks. Finally, a place he can call his own, and it's already trying to kill him. For once, Eddie would prefer not to be right.

Richie snorts, staring at the orange puddle of Stan on the ground. "Now that's a cool new feature. What happens when you put your hand on the other pillar, professor?"

Stan reforms, still looking on edge, eyes darting around the clubhouse as he brushes himself off.

Richie opens his mouth again, only to pause, looking around. "I—Where's Eddie?"

Bill and Mike help Richie look for him, but they have to be out of their minds if they think he's coming back out in this death trap.

"Eddie?" Richie calls out, craning his neck as he does a full 360 trying to find his friend. "Eddie? Come on out!" It's not until he can hear a note of panic in Richie's voice that it really sinks in that his friends are worried about him.

Hesitantly, Eddie scampers out from his little hiding corner. From where he stands so close to the ground, Richie towers over him.

"There you are!" he says, relief apparent in his voice. Richie smiles warmly as he crouches down, extending a hand out to him. Eddie crawls up into his hand, and something about the sensation of being held somewhat eases his fears. Richie gives him a quick scratch before setting him down on the ladder rung.

Eddie's grateful to Richie, but he has... a _lot_ of things to say. In fact, he's bursting with so much energy that he's practically vibrating. He transforms back so that he's sitting on the ladder.

"Okay, you see that's exactly why there are safety codes, why we have permits!" he snaps the minute he's back to normal, and Richie bites back a laugh. Eddie can try to hold his tongue, but that pillar had narrowly missed Ben's head. Eddie stares him dead in the eye. "This place is a death trap, do you understand that?"

Eddie hates knowing that he's a coward—hates how just a loud sound can send him running. But he also hates how often he now has to acknowledge the very real possibility of his friends getting hurt. He hates how those odds have skyrocketed ever since attending a school for heroes. He also hates how even just the thought of any one of his friends getting hurt, or… or worse… scares the shit out of him.

"Well, it's a work in progress, okay, Eddie?" Ben sounds a little hurt, but Eddie can't stop himself, not when he goes into one of his panic spirals.

He catastrophizes. He can't help it. It's been ingrained in him for as long as he can remember.

"Just so you know if I get hurt, you are liable," he adds crossly.

Deep down he doesn't blame Ben, not even a little, but his words are driven by fear. The same fear that's always at the forefront of his mind.

Sure, Eddie's afraid of getting hurt. But it's not the physical pain that scares him. It's the consequences. Eddie knows his mother. He knows that she will pounce on any opportunity she's given to justify taking Eddie out of school for good—and getting hurt is her perfect excuse.

No more Sky High. No more heroes. No more friends.

So, no, he doesn't mean to blame Ben. At the same time, doesn't Ben know the risk he's taking, being down here? Doesn't he know the consequences? To willingly endanger him, despite being his friend? What kind of friend was he, anyway, to put Eddie through this? Doesn't he know what it's doing to his nerves? Doesn't he know that stress will only exacerbate his condition? How inconsiderate do you have to be—

Something hanging on the wall catches his attention—diverting his worries for the time being.

"What's this?" He bats it with his hand. "Some sort of iron maiden?"

"That's a flashlight," says Ben.

"Why?" says Stan, biting back a grin as he gestures a hand to Richie. "We already got one."

Eddie can't help but let a giggle slip out.

Richie rolls his eyes. "Oh, haha. You're a riot, Stanley, really." He claps. "Right this way, folks! Everyone get a good laugh at the human desklamp!"

"Everyone, sh-sh—Everyone shut up!" says Bill, voice loud and clear, but not harsh, catching everyone's attention. His eyes narrow, fixed on something—fixed on Richie. "The sun is setting."

The last of the sunlight disappears behind the horizon, the remaining beams of light peeking into the bunker disappear.

Gradually, as the sun begins to dim, Richie illuminates the dark, the only remaining light in the clubhouse.

There's something magical, even ethereal about him. It's beautiful, the kind of moment you just have to drink up for all it's worth. The sanctum is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

"What?" says Richie, finally, when he realizes everyone is staring. "Do I have something on my face? Oh, God, is it a spider? Please tell me it's not a spider—"

Eddie shakes his head, putting a finger to his lips. For once, Richie doesn't speak.

Mike breaks the silence. "You know what? This is so cool… I've never been inside a secret sanctum."

"I mean, it's just a clubhouse," says Ben. He shrugs, switching on the flashlight, and it's like the spell is broken. "It's not a real—"

"Ben," says Mike. "It's real. You built this. Give yourself some credit. You could, like—do this as a job, if you wanted someday!"

"You think so?" asks Ben.

Mike nods. "It can be a clubhouse _and_ a sanctum."

"But... only heroes get secret sanctums," says Stan.

Ben grins. "That's right."

"Only... _heroes_ get secret sanctums," he says again.

"Yep," says Ben. "Heroes save people."

It takes a moment for his words to really sink in.

"Oh."

Richie pushes up his glasses to wipe at his eyes. "Well, fuck me, I guess." He sniffs. "God, you really came for the waterworks, didn't you, Benny?"

Desperate for some much-needed levity, Eddie spots a paddle ball on the ground and snatches it up. "Oh, this is cool."

"That actually cost me, like, three dollars, so be careful," says Ben.

Eddie plays around with the paddle ball, nearly knocking it directly into Stan's face, and the world goes back to normal.

—

Things between Mike and Bill are getting weird. They've been weird for a while, but the first thing Eddie notices at lunch is that Mike isn't sitting at his usual table.

He should've picked up on this since the day after Save the Citizens. At lunch, Bill's sitting with some of the older kids, he waves them over. When they try to sit down, Greta replicates and takes every seat for herself.

"Sorry, all full."

Mike plays it off with a smile. "That's ok, I think we see a seat over there. Come on, guys."

As Eddie walks away, he can still hear Greta. "No offence, Bill, but this isn't a loser outreach program." A chorus of Greta's laughter.

However, today, Eddie spots Mike sitting next to Beverly Marsh. Not taking the time to question what the hell is going on, Eddie pulls up a seat next to him.

"Hi, Mike," says Eddie as he sets down his lunch tray. Beverly glares at him, but he's trying his best to ignore her—even if inside he's freaking out. "Did you do the history homework?"

"What do you think you're doing?" demands Beverly.

"It's called sitting," says Eddie. People tended to assume he was skittish, but he could be very hard-headed when he wanted. While he certainly finds Mike's choice to be… odd, he's a bit too scared to question it in front of Beverly.

But he's just stubborn enough to stand his ground.

She eyes them with suspicion. "No—No one sits here but me," she says, aiming for hostile, but there's a note in her voice that is unsure. Needless to say, he doesn't quite buy her whole menacing act.

Eddie exchanges a dubious look with Mike.

He ignored Bev's bewildered glare as he continues. No one is stopping him from getting those answers to the homework, not even Beverly Marsh. "What did you get for number four?" asks Eddie. He counts them off on his fingers. "I wasn't sure if it was 'a) bitten by a radioactive tiger' or 'b) bitten by a regular tiger and then exposed to radiation—"

Beverly looks at Mike. "I don't understand. Did I do or say something yesterday to make you think this was ok?"

Eddie's eyebrows shoot up, giving Mike a look that says, _yesterday?,_ but Mike ignores him.

"Ha, Beverly, you're so funny," says Mike. She shoots him a mystified look. "You're never gonna believe what happened. I was just about to ask Bill to prom, when wouldn't you know it? I told him I was going with you instead."

Her mouth hangs open. "I don't remember that being part of the plan—!"

Ben takes the seat next to her, Stan sliding in next to him and shooting Mike a look.

"What?" demands Mike, but Stan just shakes his head and unwraps his spork, radiating silent judgement.

Ben is on the complete other end of the spectrum in terms of emotion. "We're eating at Beverly's table now?" he says excitedly. "I feel extremely dangerous!"

"Whoa!" says Beverly sharply. Her eyes widen. "Ben from Soc, what are you doing here?"

The remaining menace begins to crack in her facade. Her expression always softens when she looks at Ben. Every time.

"Hi, Beverly!" says Ben. "I didn't know you were friends with Mike."

"I—I'm not," says Beverly. "Look—"

Before she can finish, Richie sits down on the other side of Beverly—across from Eddie. He interrupts her, which gets her pissed all over again.

"Is this guy bothering you, Eds?" he asks, gesturing to Beverly with his thumb. There's something urgent and protective in his tone that Eddie's never heard.

"Try the other way around," she grumbles through grit teeth.

Eddie bites back a laugh. No, Beverly is not bothering him, not in the slightest. In fact, he finds the entire bind she's gotten herself into to be very amusing. Still, he appreciates the gesture nonetheless, and he smiles at Richie with nothing but fondness.

A part of him might like the idea that Richie is looking out for him.

"Does anyone else need a date for prom?" says Beverly, and she sounds _so_ tired.

Stan raises his hand.

Before she can say more, Bill walks by with a group of kids. Mike bursts into a fit of forced laughter. "Beverly, you are cah-rae-zy!"

Beverly shoots him a quizzical look. Bill glances back at them, succeeding in capturing his attention.

As soon as Bill is gone, Mike deflates. He pleads, "Please, I promise, I'll make this as painless as possible."

Awareness dawns on her expression. "So you're not doing this because you like me or anything. You're doing this to get at Denbrough?"

Mike nods. "Yeah..."

For the first time, Beverly's face lights up in a real smile. It's pretty, save for the intent behind it. "Then I'm in."

Mike breathes a sigh of relief.

Beverly leans in, adding under her breath. "But I'm not buying a dress." She grabs her backpack and walks away.

No one speaks.

Finally, Ben says, "Hey, if Beverly is gone, is this still the tough guy table?"

Stan shakes his head.

—

Eddie is studying on the steps outside the school when Richie sits down next to him. "So... All this prom talk…" he says, and Eddie knows him well enough to tell that he's trying and failing to sound all nonchalant.

Eddie puts down his notes from their lecture on the pros and cons of capes. "What about it?" he asks, somewhere between irritation and genuine intrigue.

"I dunno, it all just seems kinda…"

"Kinda—?" Eddie prods. It's not like Richie to be at a loss for words.

"Ah... blown out of proportion, don't you think?"

Eddie frowns. "In what way?"

Begrudged to admit it, he always does want to hear Richie's perspective on things—no matter how much he disagrees.

"Like…" Richie runs his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. "Look at the lengths Mike is going to just to make some dopey guy jealous!" he says, waving a hand around. "Seems a bit extreme, right?"

"'Some dopey guy'?" asks Eddie. He turns so that his body is turned toward Richie instead of away. "Isn't Bill, like, your best friend?"

"Look, I'd do anything for Bill, but he can be some dopey guy _and_ my best friend, those titles are not mutually exclusive."

Despite himself, Eddie laughs. Richie smiles.

Now that he thinks about it, Richie's kinda become his best friend, too. But Richie's also known Bill for longer, so it's not like he could come between whatever they had. Or that he was _threatened_ in any way. He and Richie were just… different. There wasn't really a way to explain it.

The two of them watch as Beverly and Mike hold hands. Mike whispers something into Beverly's ear. Beverly giggles, playing the part of the girlfriend as best she can. He tucks a flower behind her ear. Their little display catches the eye of Bill as he passes.

As soon as Bill's gone, a tiny flame ignites between their interlocked hands, and Mike yelps, wincing as he lets go of her hand.

Richie feigns gagging. "Exhibit A."

Eddie stifles a giggle behind his hand. "Let me guess, they're never gonna hear the end of it?" he asks, knowing Richie is definitely gonna use this as ammo to tease them about it later. It was pretty silly, the more he thought about it.

Instead, Richie shakes his head, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Look at them. He's so stupid. He's got—got someone," he admends, as if aware Eddie is sitting next to him. They tell each other everything. What could he be hiding? "Someone so into him right in front of him, and he doesn't even—“

”Who? Bill?”

Richie hesitates. “Yeah. I was talking about Bill. I mean. All this, and for what? To wear stuffy, ill-fitting tuxes? Sway awkwardly to bad music? Dance in front of all your judgmental peers—and a date if you're lucky?" He pouts.

Eddie sighs and pats him on the back. "That's the idea, Rich. Can't say I really see the appeal either. I think I'd rather die than willingly set foot in a high school gym."

Richie laughs, which emboldens Eddie to do the same.

"So… I'm guessing you don't have a date?" asks Eddie, hoping the conversation has developed in a way that bringing it up sounds natural and organic—and _totally_ not a way to find out if Richie is seeing anyone.

He shouldn't care about it, but he's curious. Yeah. Just curious is all.

"N-No!" His eyes widen before breaking gaze with Eddie, turning away and rubbing his arm. "Why would I?"

Eddie's face goes red. "I dunno, you're the one who brought up prom in the first place!" he nearly shouts, overly defensive and he knows it. He tries again, softer this time. "Don't you... want one?"

"A date?"

Eddie nods.

He smiles wryly, elbowing Eddie. "To want a date to the prom, you have to want to go to the prom in the first place, aye Kaspbrak?"

"Oh." So Richie doesn't want to go to the dance. At all. Or with anyone. "I—I guess I just figured you wanted to go."

"Me? Nah." He waves a hand dismissively, all cavalier, then glances over at Eddie. "Why?" he adds hastily. "Do—Do you?"

"Wanna go to prom? I… maybe?"

He's definitely thought about it, even if he'd only admit it to himself. It could be fun. With the right people... Right _person_. Or it could be a huge bust.

Richie chuckles, an eyebrow raised. "You like to dance, Eds?"

"No!" he snaps, instinctively combative as he always is with Richie. "I mean, yes! I mean… Potentially," he grumbles.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means… With the right partner, I don't see why not," he admits. He measures his words carefully. "It might even be fun, I don't know!"

Richie laughs. "You are so particular, Eds." He goes for the cheek-pinch, but Eddie bats his hand away. His expression is fond. Amused, but fond. "God fucking bless, I hope you find what you're looking for. They're sure gonna have their hands full."

They're still talking about the dance, right?

"You're an idiot," says Eddie. Deflecting. "And are you calling me difficult?"

"I said 'particular' for a reason." Richie squints, scrutinizing Eddie more closely and adjusting his glasses as he stares. "I can't parse your type."

Eddie leans back, feeling like he's being held under a microscope. "You really are an idiot."

"I usually am, but about what in particular this time?"

He changes the subject. "For someone who isn't into school functions, you sure do care a lot about prom, don't you?"

Richie shrugs. "Gotta keep tabs on these things, especially when your friends are acting like colossal tools about it for no goddamn reason."

"So it's just that," says Eddie. "To laugh at the whole thing? And _not_ because you're gonna ask anyone?"

"Hey, maybe I'm waiting for someone to ask me, ever think of that?"

"Funny, I figured you were more of the take-charge type."

Richie bursts out laughing.

"What's so funny?" asks Eddie.

"Well, I figured you knew me enough. 'Take-charge type'." He's still chortling. "The minute I show any sense of urgency people are gonna expect me to actually do things."

"Don't tell me all that confidence is just for show."

"Confidence?"

"I—never mind."

"Look, I'll admit that it doesn't sound like the worst thing ever, but it's just not worth the hassle."

"I mean," says Eddie. He avoids Richie's gaze, eyes fixed on his textbook like he suddenly finds the passage on the aerodynamics of capes during flight travel very interesting. "You don't need a date to go. Or at least not a _date_ -date. Look at Ben, he's going stag. Or, like, ya know... Mike and Bev, they're not together."

"What, you mean go as friends?"

"Sure. It'd take a whole lot of pressure off the evening, don't you think? Less expectations and stuff. For... everyone involved. People go as friends to prom all the time—at least I think."

"I dunno, I'm pretty bad at the whole decorum thing. People don't exactly look at me and see 'ideal date'." Richie gestures to himself—pockmarked, thick-lenses glasses, garish button-ups and all. Frankly, Eddie can't find a single thing he dislikes about Richie, but to admit that out loud is a completely different story. "It's just not worth it."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah," says Richie. "Prom is stupid."

Silence.

Eddie wants to ask him, at least as friends. The more he thinks about it, the more it's starting to appeal to him, and he doesn't want to go alone. He should say something. He should quit being a coward.

"I think I'll go," he blurts out instead—the closest he's probably going to get to the truth.

Richie's response is almost immediate. "Oh yeah, me too!"

Instead of questioning Richie's sudden change of heart, Eddie turns away, smiling to himself as he returns to his studies.

At least now Richie knows Eddie is open to the idea.

Of course, this is all based on the presumption that Richie is interested in going together at all.

But if he plans on asking Eddie anytime—as _friends_ —the invitation is on the table.

—

Eddie's often passed by the Denbrough's place on the walk home, but one evening particularly late at night he notices the pounding music and flashing lights coming from the house. Strange. Sounds like a party. If there was a party happening, why didn't he get the memo?

Eddie hesitates. He shouldn't go in. He has every excuse imaginable: He's not invited, he hates crowds, his mother will kill him. Nevertheless, curiosity getting the better of him, he steels himself to approach the front porch.

Once inside, it's a nightmare. Everything is lit in this menacing red of the disco lights, people are climbing all over the walls, it's so loud he can't even hear himself think. But he can't bring himself to leave, even as the other kids (all heroes, to his knowledge) stare and shoot him weird, dirty looks—definitely making him feel like he does not belong.

Hockstetter leers at him as he passes, and a shiver runs down Eddie's spine. That strikes Eddie as the weirdest part of all. Hockstetter is invited, and he's not? He's just about to change his mind and head out when he hears someone calling for him.

"Eddie?"

He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Eddie turns around to see Richie snaking his way through the crowd of students toward him—excited grin on his face. His eyes light up like he's never been happier to see anyone.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar face.

"Bill threw a party?" asks Eddie as Richie approaches. He has to shout over the music.

He hopes he doesn't sound too resentful because he's not—not really, anyway. Mostly, he's confused. Confused as to why one of his best friends would throw a party, and he had no idea it was happening. But if Richie's here, then he has to know something. If Richie's here, then it can't be too bad, can it? Richie's always helpful—when he wants to be. Richie's always there for him. He'll be able to explain what's going on.

"I think it's supposed to be prom committee, but a few extra people showed up!" says Richie, shouting as well. Something about him seems tapped out. His eyes are glazed over and spaced-out. Maybe he's been drinking—if that's even a side-effect. "That's what happens when you're popular, I guess." He shrugs. "Who cares though, right? Booze is booze."

Richie shoves a drink into his hand. Maybe he's more fucked up than Eddie initially thought. Because Eddie doesn't drink. Richie should know this.

"Are his parents on a distress call?" asks Eddie, gripping the bottle tightly in his hand.

The last thing he wants is for Bill to get in trouble. Well, that last thing he actually wants is for someone to call the cops. Because if the police show up, and Eddie's mother finds out he's there, he is 100% dead.

Richie ignores his worries, throwing an arm over Eddie's shoulder. "I am sooo happy to see you!"

Eddie looks around. "Where are Mike and the others?" he asks. He can't see them anywhere among the sea of students. He takes the opportunity to set the unopened bottle on a nearby table while Richie is distracted—coaster be damned.

"Who cares about them?" says Richie, which definitely sits the wrong way with Eddie, but then he adds, " _You're_ the one I was hoping to run into."

His stomach twists.

"Me?"

It should be what he wants to hear, but the context only unsettles him.

"Yeah, you, dumbass." He pokes Eddie in the chest. "Who else?"

To which Eddie sputters incoherently.

Richie smirks. "C'mere." He takes Eddie's hand, weaving him through the crowd of people, and Eddie is grateful that the red disco lights can hide the way his face is burning because _Richie is holding his hand_.

A lot of familiar faces, none of them sidekicks. "Wow," says Eddie, passing by yet another Greta who is flirting with a two-ton rock monster. "Every kid in hero class is here."

"Looks like it."

"Then why are you here?" asks Eddie, eyeing him suspiciously.

Sure, there were plenty of decent folks here, but there also plenty others that Richie would admit to hating—Bowers and Hockstetter among them. It wasn't like Richie to be suddenly cool with people like that. He wasn't exactly great at keeping his opinions to himself.

"What's with the third degree, Eds?" says Richie. "Can't you just take it easy for one second?"

"You know I hate it when you call me—"

"Eds? Yeah, I know." He must see the expression of apprehension on Eddie's face because he adds, "Relax. It's a party. Enjoy yourself!"

He wants to. God, what he would give to relax and enjoy himself just like everyone else, but he can't help but feel like something is definitely wrong.

Richie pulls him into the next empty room, closing the door shut behind them. With the music muffled, they can stop shouting.

"There," says Richie with a sigh of relief. "That is so much better. So, Eds. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing." He bites his lip.

Richie gives him a prying look. Figures. He knows Eddie too well to buy that.

Different tactic. He changes the subject. "Where's Bill? And where are Mike and Stan, and—If you're here, they are, too, right?"

Richie doesn't budge. "Bill's not gonna save you, Eds. We're alone, it's ok. Now spill."

Eddie hesitates. Sure, they're alone right now, but on the other side of that door are all their peers, who could walk in at any moment. "I—"

Someone opens the door. "Whoa!"

"Hey!" snaps Richie with an exasperated groan, turning to look at the person who just disrupted their moment.

"Oh, sorry!" It's Greta. "Just looking for a bucket!" She snickers as she closes the door behind her.

Fuck. They've been seen together, just the two of them. Alone.

No matter what Richie does now, the moment is gone.

Richie sighs, turning back to Eddie. "I just wish there was somewhere we could actually be alone."

He swallows. "Really?"

Richie nods, and the doe-eyed look he's giving Eddie is working because he's a dumb sucker.

The first thought to come to his mind is the sanctum. The second thought to come to his mind is how the sanctum is stupid far and how Eddie is an idiot for even considering it.

Luckily, he doesn't have to suggest anything because Richie shoots him a sly look that makes Eddie weak at the knees, one eyebrow quirked as he snatches Eddie's hand again. "I have an idea. Come with me."

Richie drags Eddie along, opening a nearby door and stepping into what appears to be a coat closet. He pulls the cord and the light flickers on before he shuts the door.

"Alright. No more excuses, Eds," says Richie, a note of mock seriousness to his tone. He folds his arms. "Come on, lad. Out with it," he says in the British Guy voice that normally makes Eddie laugh.

Eddie doesn't laugh, he just sighs. "Fine." He can't hide anything from Richie, even a buzzed Richie. "I guess I'm just…"

There's a lot of things on his mind. A lot of things he could say right now. He picks the easiest one.

"Worried," says Eddie, finally settling on a word. "Yeah. I'm worried. Things are falling apart. I came to this school because I was so excited to meet people like me, and… it's just nothing like I expected. Bill's just—really different now, y'know? Everything's changing so fast."

For a minute, Richie doesn't answer.

"As long as you and me can hang out, who cares?" he says after a moment.

Against his wishes, his heart skips.

"You mean it, Rich?" he asks, and he hates how fucking earnest and eager he sounds.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

But Richie's saying everything he wants to hear—at least, everything he _should_ want to hear. It's too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true. Maybe it's selfish, but he'd take the win-some, lose-some. The Losers are already falling apart in front of his eyes—he doesn't know if he could stand it if he lost Richie as well.

"Of course, dummy. You and me."

Richie takes his hand again, and Eddie allows himself to smile.

"So…" says Richie. "You and me… alone… in a closet."

Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs. "What are you, twelve?" he says, but he's become hyper-aware of their close proximity.

"You've thought about it, haven't you?" His voice is low.

Eddie avoids his eyes. "I—I don't know what you're talking about. You're drunk, dude."

"Wrong, Eds. I am stone-cold sober right now."

He finally braves a look up at him, and the only thought that strikes is that Richie is so goddamn tall. Richie bats his eyelashes, alluring, mesmerizing even behind his thick-lensed glasses. He tries not to stare at Richie's lips.

Richie's right. Eddie's thought about it. He's thought about it a lot.

Eddie leans in.

Richie backs off, eyes going wide. "Whoa! Eds, what is wrong with you?"

He blinks, the trance broken. "Richie?"

Richie laughs—cold, biting laughter, unlike anything Eddie's ever heard from him. "You thought I was serious? Oh my God, do you even know me?" He's clutching his sides and reeling like Eddie is the funniest joke he's ever heard. Laughing so hard he's certain someone—hell, the whole party—will overhear and come find them, but Eddie is frozen. "That is so sad. You're such an idiot, Eds. Cracking jokes is, like, my whole fucking thing!"

Eddie is speechless, turned still as a statue where he stands with mortification. If he thought he hated Richie calling him "Eds" before, it's nothing compared to hearing it spat out with such gut-wrenching disgust.

When he's finally calmed down, Richie says, "Look, I didn't wanna have to do this here, but I know that you have a huge crush on me."

Eddie winces like he's been physically struck.

"I—I don't—" He tries to protest, but there's no use denying. "You know?"

"Everybody knows, dude," says Richie with a condescending chuckle, and Eddie's heart sinks because Richie knowing his secret is already his worst nightmare. Just the idea that the whole school might know as well is probably his seventh circle of hell. "Not that you can take a hint. I mean, _hello_? There's a reason Bill threw a party and didn't invite you. You're just embarrassing him. You're just embarrassing yourself."

"I am?" asks Eddie, and it takes everything in him to keep his voice from breaking.

"Yeah," says Richie, and Eddie can take the pitying look he's giving him, but the self-satisfied smirk? It's the same look as when he gets in a good one, and everybody laughs, only Eddie feels like he's completely missed the punchline. "And not just because you're a sidekick. I mean, come on! If I wanted to go with you to prom, I would've _asked_."

He's not going to cry. "I—I'm sorry, Richie, I—"

"It's pathetic. All you ever do is ruin it for everyone." An eerie cackle, and the light goes out.

This time, when Richie lights up the dark, he doesn't just glow—he's on fire.

"You're worthless, Eddie. Too weak to be a hero, too pathetic to save anyone," says Richie, only it's not Richie's voice, it's multiplied—haunting, painful, screeching like nails on a chalkboard.

In the light of the fire, his skin begins to rot away, burning in the flames, eyes like glowing embers.

"Am I beautiful now, Eddie?" He's practically screaming. "You certainly seem to think so." Whoever it is—certainly not Richie—cackles, and Eddie immediately makes a grab for the door, only to feel that it's jammed. He's trapped.

His leery, sharp-toothed grin taunts him. He— _It_ —doesn't sound human. "You wanna dance, Eddie? You wanna dance with _me_? Any ideas? How 'bout a tango?" Now there's more than just haunting laughter—the sound is coupled with growls and snarls that make Eddie's skin crawl. "You think people hate you because you're a sidekick? Please. You're not a hero, Eddie. You're the bad guy. You know what a hero is? Heroes are good, not disgusting freaks who want to kiss their friends—who want to kiss other boys!"

Eddie tries the door again. This time it opens, and Eddie runs. He doesn't look back—he pretends he's a speedster, and he bolts out of there as fast as he can, not even caring about the whispers and the strange looks from the people at the party as he pushes past.

He's alone, and he has no idea where to go.

Certainly not home. His mother will grill him, and he'll be forced to admit that where he's just been—at a party, in the closet with a boy, a carbon-copy superhero who tried to kill him to top it off. She's bound to take that super well.

Which leaves the clubhouse.

It's a bit of a long ways on foot, but he doesn't stop running.

At least one thing is a small comfort to him. That wasn't really Richie. Which means Richie still doesn't know. How could he know? It's something he's barely been able to admit to himself.

Heart racing, Eddie tries to convince himself that none of it was real. Richie is not that kind of person. Richie could be rough around the edges, but Richie—the boy who told him that Bill would never be ashamed of him—would never say those things to him.

Even if Richie could never want him.

It's somewhere here, deep, deep into the woods. He's never tried to find the entrance in the dark. He needs light. He wishes Richie were here to help him.

He wishes—

Here it is.

Eddie scans his print and climbs down the ladder to the clubhouse, trembling as he sits down and does his best to make himself look natural.

"Eddie!" says Richie, sitting up from where he lays in the hammock because of course he's in the fucking hammock. "Where've you been?"

Eddie ignores him, not quite ready to talk yet, at least not to Richie—real or otherwise. He takes deep breaths, trying to regulate his pulse. Too much intense physical activity is bad for his asthma.

Stan smiles as he enters. "Eddie, I have something for you," he says, approaching him. He holds something out.

Eddie takes it gingerly, still breathing too hard to answer.

"It's a shower cap," says Stan, and Eddie can detect the smallest hint of pride in his tone, pleased by his own thoughtfulness. "For whenever we're down here. To keep out all the insects and spiders and stuff."

Maybe he's in a vulnerable place, but for some reason the gesture leaves him all choked up.

Eddie stands up. For a moment, he doesn't speak, just stares as Stan, open-mouthed. Then, he pulls Stan into a tight hug.

"Oh!" Stan grunts as Eddie squeezes him. "Thanks, Eddie, but it's nothing, really. I know you're antsy about germs, but you don't have to—Honestly, a box of shower caps is dirt cheap at the drugstore, so…" His words die out, so instead he settles for patting Eddie awkwardly on the back.

Reluctantly, Eddie lets go of him, even as he craves comfort, craves human contact. He sits back down on the wood floor and tries to ignore the staring eyes—Richie's, Stan's, Ben's, and not Mike's, but _Beverly's_.

"What?" he snaps at her, sniffing and wiping his nose, able to take the judgment from his friends but not from a stranger.

Beverly shakes her head and shrugs. "Nothing." She's wearing a shower cap, too. It makes her look a lot less scary, more approachable, even cute.

He's surprised she doesn't take the opportunity to rib him in some way. Then again, he's discovered that Beverly is actually pretty cool, so he's grateful that she's doing the nice thing and just letting it lie.

He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts of any parties that might've been attended. "So," he asks. "What is everyone doing?"

Nobody responds.

"C'mon! I'm fine! Tell me, what've you guys been up to while I've been gone?"

"Well," says Ben hesitantly. "I've been helping Stan on his report. 'The Evolution of the Freeze Ray Through Time'?"

"Oh, yeah!" says Eddie, jumping for the opportunity to take his mind off things. "I have that one, too. I don't have my notes, but could you at least take a look at my outline?"

Ben nods, and Eddie scrambles over to where he and Stan are sitting to get a look at the textbook, putting all thoughts of parties and carbon-copy fire-headed heroes from his mind.

"You talked to your mom, right Eddie?" asks Richie after a bout of prolonged silence.

"What?" Eddie looks up from his notes.

"About prom. You asked her if you could go, right? All of us were thinking of rolling up together."

"Oh, yeah, I did. She—She's cool with it," he says, trying to ignore the lump in his throat.

He doesn't want to talk about prom with Richie—not after the party. It's not his fault, but he's still reeling a bit from the encounter, and just the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Trying to recall when he first asked his mother about prom, it feels like ages ago. To be fair, she had given him permission—at least, he was pretty sure she had. But every time he tried to bring it up to her since then, she always changed the subject. He was pretty sure she was evading the topic. He wasn't ready. He didn't even have a tux.

"Sweet," says Richie, but leave it to him to sense something is wrong because he asks, "You alright, man? You seem out of it."

Eddie shakes his head. "I'm fine."

"You sure? 'Cause if you need a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on—"

"I'm fine!" he snaps. It's not Richie's fault, but he's the last person he wants to talk to about what happened. "Just—Just school stuff. Look, I appreciate the gesture, but I can handle myself just fine."

"Oh, well. Actually I was gonna suggest Stan or Mike. 'Cause they're way better at that sort of thing and are virgins with a lot more free time."

Eddie rolls his eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He tries to go back to his outline. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. And I—I'll tell you later if you still wanna know."

"Eds—"

Eddie never gets to hear him finish because at that moment he hears the sound of the trap door opening, and who jumps down into the sanctum but Mike.

"Hey, look who actually decided to show up," says Richie, not glancing up from his comic as he chills in the hammock.

(Eddie checks his watch. He's been so engrossed in his report that he forgot to check the time, but he's certain that Richie's allotted ten minutes have been up for a while.)

"Your fake girlfriend is here, too, by the way. In case you were curious," adds Richie. "Weird how she's always around even when you're not."

Mike sits down on the swing and doesn't respond.

"What's up with you?" says Richie. "Someone's got their panties in a bunch."

"Lay off, Rich," says Eddie, but his voice is quiet rather than harsh. It's just a warning—because something about Mike seems pretty rattled.

He doesn't want to think about the carbon-copy guy, but what if Mike saw him, too?

"Alright, damn."

Stanley sits up. "Oh! That reminds me, now that you're here." He grabs a tin that as "Losers Only" written on the side, and pulls out another shower cap, holding it out to Mike. "Want one?"

Mike looks up at him, but his eyes are distant. "What's this?" he asks, taking the shower cap from Stanley and turning it over in his hands.

Stan smiles sweetly. "It's so you don't get spiders in your hair." When Mike doesn't answer, he adds, "Wear it or don't, it's ok. I just figured you might want the option. Richie's not wearing his, so—"

"That's 'cause we're not afraid of fuckin' spiders, Stanley." Richie makes a point of grabbing his shower cap and tossing it aside, but Mike looks over at the other Losers all wearing their own shower caps.

"I stand corrected," says Richie.

Eddie quickly snatches the shower cap off his head. Without thinking, on instinct, like a reflex. The others may be afraid of spiders, but _he_ certainly isn't.

Okay, he's a little afraid of spiders, but he doesn't need Richie to know that.

His thoughts go back to carbon-copy Richie, and he regrets being so hasty. He wishes he could take it back. It's just a shower cap, but—

A chill runs down his spine. _Stop caring about what Richie thinks, Eds_. _Fight back the part of you that cares._ _Going down that line of thinking will only end in heartache._

"That's a first," says Beverly, but for once she seems amused rather than annoyed.

Richie shrugs, flipping a page in his comic. "Touché. Also, I didn't think the queen of mean was scared of anything."

"If that's what everyone thinks, I'd like to keep it that way. Tell anyone at school about this, and I roast you alive." She stares pointedly at the Losers.

Eddie nods vigorously. Richie just rolls his eyes.

"Got it, Hothead," says Richie. "I gotta wonder, if you hate hanging out with us so much, why are you down here?"

Beverly flips him off. "I ask myself that same question every day," she mutters, shaking her head.

The two of them had developed a weird love-hate rapport in the days approaching prom. Considering how everyone in the school was terrified of Beverly Marsh, how Richie had the gall to sit and snark at her at every waking opportunity was anyone's guess. The even more bewildering part was trying to figure out why Beverly hadn't yet roasted him alive. But Richie had guts like that, and for some reason, Beverly found his mischief amusing, so they got along fine.

In fact, they got along way better than anyone might've expected, even Eddie. Especially Eddie.

"Also, I thought the sanctum was for Losers only," says Richie. "What's the deal, Ben?"

"Like it or not, if Beverly is taking Mike to prom, she's basically an honorary Loser," says Ben. "So you have to be nice."

"I'll be nice as long as she's nice," says Richie at the same time Beverly says—

"A 'Loser'? I'm honored." Her tone is flat, emotionless as she leans against a clubhouse post. "Just what I always wanted."

"It's not as bad as it sounds!" says Ben. "Think of it like a title."

"Oh, I get it. So it's like the nickname for this little ragtag bunch of misfits," she says.

"Exactly!"

"Yeah, pass."

Mike shrugs indifferently—unusual for him. "You can go," he says as he sways back and forth on the clubhouse swing. Something about him still seems off. He's not being his normal cheery, good-natured self. "I mean, if you really want to. I'm not gonna twist your arm."

To Eddie's surprise, Beverly frowns. Strange, he would've supposed that she'd be eager to jet out of there.

"Alright." Beverly shrugs, already heading over to the ladder to climb out. "Maybe I will. I just hope Richie can sleep at night knowing I have access to the security scanner."

"Are you kidding?" cries Richie. He bolts upright. "She got the fingerprint treatment and everything?"

"What was I supposed to do?" says Ben. "She's dating Mike now."

" _Fake_ -dating Mike," says Richie. "And it's not even a relationship, she's taking him to the dance, so slow down there, Haystack. Which can I just say, is so beyond weird. I can't be the only one who thinks that. Especially after she attacked Bill in the cafeteria!"

"She also would prefer if you didn't talk about her like she's not here," gripes Beverly, but nobody listens.

"She also helped us when we really needed it," says Mike. "I dunno if you noticed, but we're not exactly on the best terms with Bill right now."

"True, but it's not gonna last forever!" says Stan with a hopeful smile. "Things will go back to normal soon."

"Back to normal?" says Mike, staring at Stan incredulously. "Things aren't just gonna magically go back to normal."

"Yeah, but…" Stan's smile falters. "We're still gonna be friends, right?"

"I—" Mike hesitates. "I dunno. Not unless Bill apologizes."

"Why?" says Stan. "So that we can cozy up to our new best friend, Beverly Marsh? 'Cause Bill seemed pretty pissed about that."

"Good!" snaps Mike—and now Eddie is certain something is definitely wrong because Mike rarely raises his voice at anyone, let alone his friends.

Stan is unflinching. "Oh, I see." He folds his arms. "So you do just want to be mad at him."

"So?"

"'So'? You were the one who suggested he look out for Bowers and Hockstetter. That's what he's doing. We're sidekicks, Mike, we can only do so much."

"God, can't you just face the facts?" says Mike. "New friends, new powers, new life—I mean, he threw a party and didn't invite us—"

"He—" Stan's voice catches. "He threw a party without us?"

For a moment, Mike doesn't answer, but he relents. "Yeah. I passed by on my way here. I tried to ask what was going on, but Bill—or uh, yeah, I guess it was Bill..."

That pause is what catches Eddie's attention. Bill, but not Bill? Sounds awfully familiar.

"I—" Mike hesitates again. "The _cheer squad_ told me to get lost," says Mike, and Eddie doesn't miss how much emphasis he places on the phrase "cheer squad". Mike nods, like he's trying to get his story straight with even himself. "Yeah. The cheer squad. Guess that's pretty pointed, huh?"

"Is that really what you guys are upset about?" asks Bev. She shakes her head. "Teenagers."

"I mean, he's not wrong," says Eddie quietly. He shudders, the image of Richie in flames burned into his brain. "I saw it, too."

Eddie bites his lip. He knows he should say something, but that would lead to questions, which would require a full explanation, including everything that happened with carbon-copy Richie. And Eddie isn't ready for that.

"It—It must be his new circle, not him," says Stan. "He's just trying to follow a lead. He's hurt, Mike."

"Really?" says Mike. "Is that what 'hurt' looks like? 'Cause he seems fine with his new friends to me. It's—It's like he's forgetting who he is—who _we_ are. Where he came from."

Stan frowns. "Yeah, it—it looks pretty bad, huh?"

"Wow," says Bev, eyebrows so high that they're nearly disappearing under her shower cap. "Look, it's none of my business, but whatever's going on with you and Denbrough, he must've been a real jerk. 'Cause whatever I do, I can't get you to stop talking to me, so—"

"It's not like that," grumbles Mike, turning away from her.

"Mike, you know Bill better than anyone," says Stan with an encouraging smile. "He'll come around."

Mike just glares at him. "Oh, so you're clairvoyant now?"

"N—No," says Stan, and Eddie can see that his resolve is weakening. "But I know you, and I know you do want him back, as mad as you say you are. And—" Stan hesitates. "You can't expect him to read your mind. You have to say how you feel, if you expect him to—y'know. His weird pseudo-crush on Beverly clearly isn't gonna amount to anything, considering how much she hates his guts, but—"

"I—What are you even—It's not—This has nothing to do with that!" sputters Mike.

"It has everything to do with that!" says Stan. "You have a fake girlfriend to make him jealous. Drop the act, Mike. The sooner we can go back to the way things were—"

"But what about Beverly?" says Ben.

Stan turns to Ben. "Excuse me?"

Eddie's surprised, too. Ben doesn't usually interrupt.

"Once Bill is back, obviously Beverly can't be around anymore," says Ben. "You keep talking about 'going back to the way things are', but going back to the way things were means leaving her behind. We can't just do that to her."

"Look, I don't really have a horse in this race, but for the record I'm not harboring any real beef against Denbrough," says Beverly. "Just because I think he's a self-righteous dick doesn't mean I'm gonna kill him the moment we're in the same room. He did, y'know, save my life…"

"Oh, please," says Richie. "She doesn't want to be here anyway."

For just a moment, Beverly looks like she's about to protest. Eyebrows knit together, her usual severe expression is much more vulnerable, much softer.

"Well, I mean…" says Bev, and it's obvious she's struggling for words. "Who says I need your pity party?" she finally snaps, hands on her hips, indignant. But for some reason, she's not directing her mirth toward Richie, but _Ben_. "I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much! I've been doing it for a while, I can always go back."

Ben stammers, off-guard from Beverly's sudden hostility. "Beverly, I didn't—That's not what I—"

"She's creepy, Ben," says Richie. "I don't like— _knowing_ she can come and go as she pleases, especially if Bill does come back."

"You come and go as you please all the time, and nobody else is worried about it!" says Ben, red in the face. Eddie's never before seen him lose his temper. "I created this clubhouse, I should get a say in who is a part of it. Beverly is a Loser!"

"She's not a Loser! She hasn't been with us long enough to be a Loser."

"Neither have I!" says Ben. "Or is that just ok because I can give you a cool hideout?"

Eddie's head is pounding. This is exactly what he'd been telling Richie—fake-Richie—that he was afraid of. Friendships falling apart, everything changes, and at the end of it, Eddie is left alone. Exactly as he predicted. Through sounds of the incessant arguing echoing through his brain, his vision zeroes in on Beverly pulling a stick out of a pack of cigarettes. And he just loses it.

"Oh my fucking God!" he cries out, not sure how much more he can take. "What is happening to us? And Beverly are you out of your mind? We are in the middle of the fucking _woods_ , in a bunker underground! Do you know how much of a fire hazard those things are?"

Beverly stares at him blankly. "I _am_ a fire hazard."

Richie bursts out laughing, then Bev joins in. Soon, everyone is laughing.

"I'm sorry, Beverly!" says Richie through his laughter. "I'm sorry. You must think I'm a real douche."

"It's ok, takes one to know one."

"God, where've you been all my life?"

"Dude. We're cool."

"Ben's right. You're one of us now. As long as you wanna be."

She smiles. "Maybe I'll stick around."

Eddie checks his watch. "Hey, Rich, your ten minutes are up."

"What are you talking about?"

"The hammock. Ten minutes each was the rule."

"I don't see any sign."

"Are you really being this way right now? Really? No, no, no, no. Why would there be a sign if there was a verbal agreement? I remember you agreeing on the fucking rule."

He and Richie go back to bickering, and the argument is put from everyone's mind.

—

Eddie and Richie fall asleep together in the hammock.

Some time late into the night, Eddie wakes up. He can hear the other Losers talking quietly. Beside him, Richie snores. He tries to lay perfectly still, so as not to wake him or alert the others.

"I—I shouldn't have said those things." It's Stan. "Of course. Of course, the minute Bill's not here to be in charge, we don't know how to function. I'm not trying to make excuses, Mike. Or… Maybe I am. I just—I just don't have a lot of friends. I never have." His voice breaks. "Everything is falling apart," says Stan, and Eddie's mind is shot back to the party, the same exact words ringing in his ears. His heart aches. Stan is afraid, just like him. "You guys are going to leave me, aren't you? I—I want to believe we can all stay together. We will, right?"

"Stan!" says Mike, a sense of urgency in his tone despite his hushed volume. "Of course we're not gonna stop being friends! Look, if it means that much to you, I can apologize to Bill tomorrow. Bev's right, it's just a party!" He laughs weakly. "It's just a party! I'm sorry, Stan, I didn't want to fix things, I just wanted to be mad."

"I'm upset, too, but I was just trying to be—I don't know, some adult's idea of what mature is, or what it's supposed to be, I guess. I hate fights, alright? I hate 'em. And lately you just—you just haven't been yourself. Even when you and Bill are fighting, everyone can see how close you guys are."

"What is it with you guys and this kid, anyways?" says Beverly.

"Bev." It's Mike.

"I mean, if you like him, I get it, but what makes him so special?"

"Beverly."

"I know I said it was just a party, but let's face it. Ditching you guys for another crowd objectively sucks—"

"Stop, ok!" says Stan, not loud, but about as strong as he can protest. "Just stop. His brother is missing, Beverly."

Another pause. Richie snores loudly.

"What?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"Yeah." A pause before Mike continues. "His little brother—Georgie, has been missing for a while now. That's why I told him to look into Bowers. And here I am, being a total ass about it. I'm a horrible friend."

"Shit," she mutters under her breath. "I'm sorry, I had no idea—"

"His parents are taking it really hard," says Mike. "I mean, they've basically given up. You think the greatest superheroes in the world wouldn't be able to find their kid if they really believed he was still out there?"

For a long while, Beverly is quiet. "For me, it was my mom."

"What?"

"I lost my mom. _That's_ why I was pissed, the day we fought in the cafeteria. I know it was wrong. It's not really their fault, what happened. I don't _want_ to blame the Commander and Jetstream, but I can't help it. I just… just don't like to think about her."

"Yeah," says Mike. "Seems like there's always someone you lose to Derry."

"Talk to him. If Bill's really as great as everyone seems to think he is, he'll understand."

"I hope so."

"But you shouldn't lie down for him either. If he's your friend, he should act like it."

"Thanks, Bev." A pause. "I'm gonna turn in tonight, but I'll see you at school, my not-girlfriend."

"See you. Night, Mike, my not-boyfriend."

The bumping sound of someone climbing up the ladder.

Silence. Richie's leg twitches in his sleep.

"'Night, boys," says Beverly.

A chorus of "Goodnight" from Ben and Stan.

More sounds of someone climbing the ladder. The hatch to the sanctum closes back up.

"It's him, isn't it?" asks Ben.

A sigh. "It—It doesn't matter," says Stan.

"For how long?"

"Pretty much since the day we met. Listen, it's nothing, I'll get over—I just, I don't really wanna—wanna talk about it."

"Alright. I mean, it's not nothing. But I understand."

"You can go if you want."

"That part where you told Mike that Bill is not a mind-reader—" says Ben.

"I thought we weren't talking about it." Stan, back to his dry intonation.

"We're not, just, if we were. It's good advice, but why can't you take it?"

"Same reason you're not gonna say anything to Beverly. Things just—don't work out the way you want them to, and it's obvious. Why jeopardize anything?"

A prolonged pause.

"I guess you're right."

Eddie glances over at Richie. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. Maybe Stan is right. Why jeopardize anything?

—

The landline rings.

Eddie is quick to pick it up. "Hello?"

"You ready for an awesome night?" says a familiar voice from the other end of the line.

"Richie?"

"Yeah, who else would it be, dipshit? Look, should I come get you, or do you wanna meet me, or—?"

"Huh?"

"For prom. I'm your ride, duh! Well, not just me, Mike, Stan and Ben are gonna be there, too. It was tough to find a classy ride, what with our school being in the _sky_ and all, but we snagged a sweet chariot, which just means we're all taking the same bus—"

"I—" God, he wishes he could he had any modicum of reckless abandon right now. But he can't allow himself to want, not when he already knows that want only leads to disaster. Last time he allowed himself to want Richie, he almost died. "I can't."

"What?" cries Richie. "Why not?"

He tries to keep his voice low. "I told you, my mom doesn't—"

"Oh, no. Your mom can't possibly say 'no' to prom! That's like... foundational high school stuff! Do you know how many first lays occur at prom? This is like—like deprivation."

He wants to laugh, but he's not in the mood. "Well, she did. Besides, I thought you said prom was stupid. Why do you care?"

"Because I already went through all the trouble of renting a tux!" says Richie, and this time Eddie does laugh. "I'm getting my fucking money's worth!"

"And prom _is_ stupid," he continues, "but the idea of you being there with—" A pause. "Just… you being there, too. Makes it sound not quite so shitty, y'know? I was—I dunno—actually kinda… excited, I guess?"

Eddie smiles to himself, twirling the phone cord with his finger. He's grateful that over the phone Richie can't see him blush. His silence, however, goads Richie to just keep talking.

"Come on, I thought you were the one who wanted to go!"

"I do!" says Eddie. He sighs. "I really do. I just—My mom will—"

"Look, the last thing I wanna do is get you in trouble. But Eds... you deserve a night of fun."

"I do? You—You think so?"

"Yes! You deserve to be with your friends! It won't be the same without you. And I am not letting you off the hook without seeing the tux I rented."

Eddie chuckles. "I bet it's tacky."

"Hey, you can't know that!" says Richie, defensive, but he chuckles, too. "Come to prom, and you can judge for yourself." Much softer, "Eds."

"What?"

"We'll be careful. She's not gonna find out. You won't get in trouble, I promise."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah! You told me what she's like, what if she freaks out and takes you out of school? I'm so not gonna let that happen. It's not gonna be the same without everyone there."

Eddie frowns. "I mean, it's not everyone. Bill—"

"I—I know."

Dead air.

"I know it's not the same," says Richie. "But Mike said he stopped by the Denbrough house, and nobody answered, so maybe we'll see him there? Maybe it's not too late."

"I know, I just—Something doesn't feel right."

"You're on edge, I get it. This is exactly why you oughta blow off steam. It'll be good for you!"

"I—" He takes a deep breath. Maybe Richie is right. Maybe he deserves this. "Ok."

"We'll come get you."

"Not at my house," says Eddie hastily. "Meet me at the clubhouse."

"Alright, see you soon. Can't wait."

"Yeah. Bye, Richie." Eddie hangs up the phone. He tries not to put too much thought into Richie's parting words.

_Can't wait._

—

He's just about to leave when he hears a voice from behind him.

"And just where do you think you're off to?"

His heart stops. He turns to face his mother, voice catching in his throat."O-Out—with my friends."

"Sweetie." Her voice is sweet, but there's no smile. A chill runs down his spine. "You can't go. It's late, honey."

He stares up at her, refusing to give up his ground. Any preconceived speeches fly out the window. Sonia Kaspbrak towers above him. When did his mother get so tall?

He gulps. "But it's _prom_. I—I asked you if I could go, remember?" His voice is soft, his courage failing. Maybe if he reminds her of her own words, she'll be more forgiving. She can doubt him, but she can't doubt herself, right? "All my friends are gonna be there." That doesn't do any good. Don't remind her of your hero friends, she doesn't approve of them. He implores her, trying to appeal to her good nature that he knows is in there somewhere. "Mommy, you _promised—_ "

She snaps. "I said I'd think about it, didn't I?" she says, the patient veneer wearing thin. "Well, I've thought about it, and you can't go."

He flinches. "But you said—"

"Eddie-bear, I don't want to be the bad guy." She touches his cheek. It's not the sensation itself that makes his skin crawl. Rather, it's the calculated intent behind the gesture—what he was previously unable to detect. Then once detected, what he was able to ignore, excuse, justify to himself. Still, he knows better than to bat her hand away. "But you're just not ready. You're getting over your sickness, remember?"

"My sickness? Okay, what—what sickness, Ma?"

"You don't understand. You're not strong enough, Eddie-bear. You're not like the other kids. Your constitution is too weak. You can't do what the other kids can do. I had to protect you."

"Protect me? By lying to me—by keeping me locked inside this hellhole? You were planning to keep me stuck in Derry forever, keep me in the dark about a whole side of me I didn't even know! I'm sorry, but the only people who were trying to protect me were my friends. They're the ones looking out for me! So I'm going."

"Oh Eddie, I knew that school was gonna put ideas in your head. Hero business is nothing but trouble. It's just too dangerous, you can't—"

"It's just a dance, Mamma. Just a dance! You can't keep me here forever. Maybe I knew I was signing up for danger, fully knowing what might happen. Or maybe I didn't ask for it when I was born this way. I'm not weak. I'm going to be with my friends, whether this is an ordinary night and nothing bad happens, or I'm right and something is very, _very_ wrong. Because I'm not leaving their sides."

"Something is wrong?" Her voice rises. "Eddie, did you say something is wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Mama!" he calls back to her as he races out the door.

"Eddie. Eddie, you get back here! Don't do this to me, Eddie—"

Despite everything she's done to him, as she calls out to him in the dark, he can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her.

But that doesn't stop him from running. He runs as fast as he can.

—

Of course, instead of dancing and enjoying themselves, the Losers hang out by the punch bowl.

Eddie grips his drink tightly in his hand, eyeing the room apprehensively. He's just about to take a sip when someone bumps into him, spilling his punch.

"Fuck!" cries Eddie, bright red punch dripping down his white shirt.

Greta laughs—as do the three or four Gretas watching nearby. "Oops," she says before she joins up again with her duplicates, far enough out of reach for the Losers to confront her or do anything about it.

Ben holds out a napkin, which Eddie graciously takes.

"The girls here can be, uh, jerks," says Ben. "I try to pay 'em no mind."

Beside him, Richie snickers. Eddie stops dabbing at his shirt and looks up to see what the deal is, quickly aware that Beverly—looking dapper in a black tux—is standing right behind Ben and can hear the entire thing.

"Thanks a lot," she says dryly, but she's biting back a smile. There's an amused glint in her eye.

Ben's eyes go wide at the sound of her voice, but he turns around and grins in excitement when he sees her. "I thought you weren't coming!" He glances her up and down, taking in her whole ensemble.

Even Eddie can admit, she looks pretty good. Beverly Marsh can rock a suit.

"Couldn't leave a friend hanging in his hour of need, could I?" Beverly shrugs, hands shoved into her pockets. "Told you I wasn't gonna wear a dress."

"It's a good look," says Ben, his ears going red. "Mike's gonna love you." His gaze is so adoring.

"Mike?" asks Bev. "What about Mike?"

"Uh… I thought you guys were going together?"

Beverly laughs. "Yeah, as _friends_. I'm doing him a solid. It's not, like, a thing. I thought you knew that." She looks around. "Where's Bill?"

"He hasn't turned up," says Richie. "Dunno what the deal is."

Beverly purses her lips in a sour expression but doesn't bother to break gaze with Ben when she answers. "Yeah, I heard he bailed." She sighs. "Well, that throws a wrench in things, but a deal's a deal, right?"

Glancing over at Mike, she and Ben can see that he's talking to Stan and a girl with wings. The girl says something, and Stan laughs.

"He's not the person I wanted to see tonight," says Beverly. "And neither is Bill. Look, Mike's great. He's sweet, he's wonderful, he's a goddamn catch, if he was the slightest bit into me, I'd maybe give it a shot. I don't really like him that way, but I could. But it's obvious who he's got eyes for. I guess what I'm trying to say is…" She blushes. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For coming to bat for me all this time. No one's ever done that before." Clearly drinking in Ben's appearance, she smirks in that classic Bev way, then winks. "You clean up nice, New Kid."

"Thanks," says Ben. Now his entire face is red.

Richie snorts.

God, they're so obvious. Eddie knows it. Richie knows it. Why can't they see it?

Ben grabs a toothpick from the snacks table, holding it out to her. "Cheese cube?"

He can feel Richie nudge him and stifle a laugh, and he can't help it, a giggle slips out.

"It's not funny," says Eddie, trying to keep a stern face.

Richie laughs out loud this time, grabbing napkins from the snack table and handing them to Eddie.

Ok, it's a little funny.

He takes them, fingers brushing against Richie's which makes his stomach lurch. But, otherwise, the gesture makes him feel slightly better.

Maybe everything will be fine.

—

Something about prom just doesn't feel right. Eddie can't explain it, but the whole night has been off.

He feels so out of place. He's surrounded by peers who don't even like him. He's underdressed. Everyone is in black-tie, and all he has to show is a button up with a bright red punch stain right in the middle.

Before The Cafeteria Incident, Save the Citizens, and the party, his mother had barely entertained the idea of giving him permission to _attend_ a school dance, but now? Now that he's specifically gone against her wishes? Despite the sinking feeling in his gut? Despite sensing that something is definitely seriously wrong?

This is all so uncharacteristic of him. So un-Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak doesn't take risks.

He's gonna get hurt, or worse—in trouble.

Richie doesn't seem to notice anything is wrong. He's dancing around excitedly, gangly limbs flailing around, not really in time to the music, but trying his best.

His hair, which he had at least attempted to style for the occasion, is askew. He's dancing right up close to Eddie, encroaching on his personal space—which is a very Richie move. Normally it wouldn't even be unwelcome, but he's just dancing so _close_.

Why is he so close?

"You wanna dance?" asks Richie, broad smile on his face, hand outstretched like an open invitation. Just for Eddie.

 _Yes_.

Eddie is burning up.

"No!" He folds his arms in on himself, mortified and determined to look anywhere but Richie.

Richie stops and backs off of Eddie, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Me neither."

It'd be funny if it wasn't so out of character. Eddie frowns. "What's up with you? You're acting weird."

Last time he thought Richie was acting weird, he'd ended up in the closet with a decaying monster who burst into flames. So, yeah, he's a little on edge.

"What's up with me?" asks Richie. "What's up with you? Are—Are you ok, Eds?"

Eddie sighs. Sometimes, he genuinely hates being the way he is. Tonight was supposed to be a fun night. Sure, he could voice his suspicions, but Eddie is always suspicious. The last thing he wants is to ruin the night for other people—especially Richie.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Rich."

Unfortunately, Richie is Richie and sees right through him. "C'mon, you can't bullshit me. You love to dance! What's wrong? Do you wanna go home? I'm sorry if we pressured you to come here, it just seemed like you really wanted to. I know you were worried about getting in trouble. I should've—"

"Richie—"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I mean, I don't usually, but if I was then I'd—I'd, I don't know, try to explain that I figured you could use a night like this. I just wanted to—to lift your spirits, I guess."

"It's not you, Rich. I just—" He trusts Richie. He does. Eddie takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I just feel like something is wrong. Really wrong."

"Eds, I know you get all in your head about this kind of stuff, but it's prom. What could happen?"

"I mean you're right, but I dunno, I just have this weird feeling that something bad is gonna happen."

"Okay. I believe you. And I'll keep an eye out."

He's gonna have to tell Richie the truth about everything. The party, the carbon-copy guy, everything. He takes a deep breath. "Richie—"

Everything goes to shit.

A monster's got the student body in a trance, and now everybody is screaming, panicking, desperate for a way out.

They're running for the door when Coach Bowers pulls Beverly aside. "Hey, Hothead, get as many people out as you can! I'll slow him d—"

Boomer is deadlighted before he can even finish the sentence.

Beverly grabs Ben by the arm and runs, the rest of the Losers following close behind. They can hear the screams of panic from the students as the exits are being blocked off. Luckily, Beverly is quick-thinking. Her blast of fire hits a nearby air duct with enough force that the cover gets blown clean off, and the Losers one by one crawl inside.

It's dark, much too dark to see anything, let alone navigate in the cramped space.

"Anybody got a flashlight?" asks Stan, and he can hear the note of false-hope in his tone.

"Hey, Beverly, how 'bout a torch?" asks Ben.

"Not unless you wanna get barbecued," she replies wryly.

There's a faint light from behind Eddie, and he knows right away what—or, rather, _who_ —is the source.

Richie Tozier to the rescue.

"Oh, that's brilliant!" says Eddie under his breath.

"I might be." Richie's too far behind him for Eddie to see him, but he swears he can hear the smirk in his voice—which makes Eddie blush because he has no idea Richie can hear him at all.

"Gents, if I may?" says Richie, all self-assured.

Stan sits on his side, making enough room for Richie to pass, corner of his mouth upturned in an amused smile.

Richie waits, looking at Eddie expectantly. "You gonna move out of the way for me, Spaghetti Man?" he finally asks, much too patient.

"What?" It only _just_ occurs to him that he's in Richie's way. "Oh! Right. Moving!"

Eddie watches as a gangly, long-limbed, bespectacled, _glowing_ Richie tries to squeeze by in the cramped vent, and his heart swells with fondness. He’s reminded of a song.

_And all the reindeer loved him…_

He sings along to the tune in his head, and it's not until he sees the little smirk of joy on Richie's face that he's even aware that he's singing it out loud.

It's ok. At this point, he's past the point of embarrassment.

"Way to glow, Rich!" calls Ben from behind them.

"Thanks, man." Richie grins broadly like he's some kind of hero. He _is_ a hero.

For a moment Eddie adores him—really, _adores_ him.

They keep crawling through the labyrinth for a while until they can see a bright light at the end of the vents.

"There!" says Richie, pointing. As if on cue, someone opens the vent from the other side just as Richie approaches, and he conveniently pokes his head out.

"Sup, kid?" he says to the person standing right outside, and he sounds so soft.

By his tone of voice, Eddie can already tell who it is.

"Bill!" cries Mike.

Once out of the vents, the other Losers clamor around him.

"Guys," says Bill, his tone urgent. "You're never gonna believe this—"

"There's a shapeshifting, carbon-copy supervillain that no one's known about?" says Stan. "And It's the reason kids have been going missing both in Derry and at school?"

"Yeah, and—"

"And It's built some sort of techy device that runs through the entire school to prey on the fears of kids to feed to its space spider-god?" adds Beverly. "It's, like, channeling this thing's shape-shifting powers by presenting us with our worst fears and harvesting our pain so it can… I dunno, eat? It's all very convoluted."

"No, right—"

"Yeah, and It dresses up as a dancing clown and deadlighted a whole bunch of people into this crazy levitating trance," says Richie, "Including your parents, dude."

"O—Ok…" says Bill, measured, processing all this new information. He can practically see the cogs turning. "That I d-didn't know about."

"I think this is gonna be more than even the great Big Bill Denbrough can handle," says Mike.

"Mike is right," says Bill. "It's g-gonna take all of us."

Eddie scoffs. "All of who?" he asks. "You and Beverly? The rest of us are only sidekicks."

"J-Just because you have powers, that doesn't make you a hero!" says Bill. Softer, much more vulnerable, he adds, "Sometimes it just makes you a jerk... m-makes _me_ a jerk. What I've b-b-b-b-been—been t-t-t-trying to—to say is—"

"We get it, Bill. You've been a jerk." Mike rolls his eyes, but his smile is so kind. Eddie knows him well enough to tell when all is forgiven.

Something about Bill's eyes when he looks at Mike—he looks so smitten, so soft. "Mike. In c-case a superclown ends up killing us tonight. I just want you to know—"

Bill grabs Mike and pulls him into a kiss a long-anticipated kiss, and Mike melts into his embrace.

Something about the moment compels Eddie to glance over at Richie from the corner of his eye. He's unmistakable—unapologetically loud, unapologetically garish, unapologetically _Richie_ in a white tux, neon yellow shirt, and lime green tie. Despite everything, Eddie's glad Richie convinced him to come, just to see it and judge it for himself.

Thankfully, Richie is too distracted by the make-out session to notice him staring.

Seeing Mike and Bill intertwined each other's embrace like it's the last thing they might ever do, something in him just clicks.

 _I should say something,_ thinks Eddie. _Now might be my only chance. Who knows if we'll survive?_

"Isn't that sweet?"

A familiar voice from the end of the hallway cuts through the otherwise tender moment. The Losers turn to see Greta—patronizing smile on her face—standing in their way. "I hate sweet."

Right beside her stand Bowers and Hockstetter. Bowers' loud cackle echos menacingly throughout the hall.

Bill lets go of Mike. "So, you guys are a part of this, too," he says, staring them down. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Go take care of Pennywise," says Beverly to Bill, already tossing aside her jacket and pushing up her sleeves. "We'll take care of these clowns."

Bill nods affirmingly before taking a running leap and crashing straight through the wall.

—

"I got Greta to talk,” says Mike. “The power is being amplified through the generator, while draining the energy from the anti-gravity device. It's an extension of carbon-copy and replication, which is why we're getting all kinds of weird freaky mind trips. This path is the only way to access it."

"Ok, but even if we did manage to get ahold of it, how are we gonna stop it?” says Stan. “I mean, are there any ways to reverse the effects?"

"I can do that," says Ben, faltering under the surprised eyes of the other Losers. "I—I mean. I can try. Once I take a look at it, I can probably find a way to reverse engineer it. We just need to get to the generator."

"There's no way we're gonna be able to find it in time without It picking up on what we're doing!" says Richie. "What do we do if It catches on to us?"

"Maybe we could… try a distraction," throws out Stan. "Do what you do best, Richie."

"And what's that?"

Stan's mouth tugs in a small smile. "Start talking."

Richie opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. He shrugs. "It is a gift."

Stan points to the map. "The tunnel to the generator goes through here. And it's here we can find the anti-gravity device."

"Yeah, but you'd have to be the size of a rat to fit in there," says Mike.

"Oh! I nominate Eddie!" pipes up Richie at once.

All eyes turn to Eddie.

"Hey!" says Eddie. "Richie, now's not the time for jokes! I get that I'm small but—"

 _Oh_.

Realization hits him like a freight train. "Oh, great."

—

"Let it go on the record that I think this is a dumb plan!" hisses Eddie. The Losers crouch behind a pile of crumbled debris, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Is everyone ready?" says Mike, signaling to the other Losers. "I'm gonna start counting down."

Eddie ignores him. "I take it back. It's beyond dumb, it's dangerous. I mean, serving yourself up as clown fodder, Richie, are you crazy?"

Richie holds a finger to Eddie's lips. "If I get skewered by a killer clown, make sure to tell your mom we're done."

Eddie swats his hand away. "Stop it! Don't die, and you can tell her yourself."

They manage to sneak over to the pipe entrances where Eddie is supposed to do his part.

Richie turns to him. "Guinea pig time, Spaghetti Man."

Eddie rolls his eyes and shifts.

Richie scoops him up and grins, bringing him up to eye level. In the dimly lit gym, his glow is more like a faint angelic aura. "Guess this is it, Eds."

"Richie, you know that I—"

There's a loud crash from behind them, and Richie turns his head to the sound of the noise. His eyes widen. "Oh, shit! No time, Eds."

"Wh—"

Richie unceremoniously shoves Eddie into the tunnel. "You can do this, I believe in you!" he calls after him.

"Richie, wait!" Eddie squeaks. "I still need—"

But Richie is gone.

"Directions..."

Eddie is alone. He waits, shivering in place.

"I'm back," says a breathless voice after a few seconds.

Eddie can exhale. "Oh, thank God."

"And I brought a friend! Stan, say hi."

"So." He can hear Stan's voice. He continues without preamble, ignoring Richie's joke and cutting straight to business. "You're gonna want to go straight, and at the third intersection you're gonna want to make a left, and then an immediate right."

"This is so stupid." If Eddie could roll his eyes, he would, but he hopes his voice travels far enough for the rest of the Losers can hear. That way they can hear his disapproval. His heart is pounding in his tiny chest. The walls of the tunnel are barely big enough for him to squeeze through. The fit is claustrophobic. He'll surely suffocate.

"You're doing great, Eddie!" calls Richie into the pipe, and despite how much he hates this, Eddie does appreciate his words of encouragement.

He feels braver.

A few seconds go by and he hears, "Look at those cute little legs," which he's pretty sure is not intended for his ears considering how distant Richie sounds.

The fact that Eddie can't address this now is driving him insane, but he has a job to do. People are counting on him. People don't count on Eddie Kaspbrak.

Under Richie and Stan's direction, he's able to find a blinking box with wires and buttons.

"I found the generator!" says Eddie. "I think…"

"Ok!" says Richie. "So cut the wire connected to the scramm—"

There's a roar, a cackle, and the sound of screaming before he can finish.

"Richie!" calls Eddie, and his high voice reverberates through the tunnels, but there's no answer. "Richie! Stan!"

His whole body is trembling. He's stuck in the pipes, with the power that might actually save the school and all he can do is sit and wait for further instruction.

"The wire connec—connected to the scrammer! Cut the wire connected to the scrammer!" It's Stan.

"Got it." Eddie's panicking. There's a lot of different wires, and he has no idea what a scrammer even is. "Wait, which one?"

"The red wire," says Richie. "Chew the red wire!"

"There's a lot of red wires down here!"

The school falls out of the sky. He can hear Richie and Stan screaming. The ground shakes with each stomp of the monster. Eddie picks a red wire and bites.

—

A miracle.

The Losers save the day.

They actually save the day.

Ben manages to reconfigure Its generator, and everyone snaps out of their collective trance. And by everyone, it's literally everyone—the students, the teachers, Bill's parents… Georgie.

Bill has his family back. Everyone is safe.

They're _heroes_.

It's a happy occasion. For once, everybody lives. They're even able to continue prom in victory celebration.

The music starts up again, and Eddie's exhausted. He collapses into a chair at one of the tables, gesturing to Richie to sit down next to him. He does.

Last Eddie saw of them, Mike and Bill are somewhere outside, making out. Beverly is chatting up Ben. Even Stan's making conversation with a cute girl with wings over by the punch bowl. It's just the two of them now.

They're sat down, watching the crowd of happy, rescued high schoolers sway and jump around to the music.

Richie scoffs, wrinkling his nose. "God, it's so sweet I could hurl."

"Totally," says Eddie with a small smile, and he appreciates that Richie meeting him at his level.

However, he can see Richie's foot tapping in time to the music, and he knows that he is just itching to get out there. Instead of dancing, like he obviously wants to, he's sitting next to Eddie, content to enjoy his company. Eddie has a feeling it has to do with his absolute refusal to dance earlier in the night—which is a shame he doesn't feel nearly as self-conscious, nearly as on-edge. His anxieties about something going horribly, horribly wrong have subsided now that the bad guys have been subdued. He's no longer in that same state of mind.

They won. They actually won. He can relax. He can be a goddamn teenager.

Eddie stands up, offering out a hand. "You wanna dance?"

Richie jumps up at once. "Yes!" He stops, realizing he's being overeager and tries again to play it cool. "I mean…" He clears his throat, bobbing his head. "Yeah. Yeah."

Eddie laughs, and the two of them dance through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to caveat that the Carbon-Copy Richie scene is loosely inspired by @Edsbev’s fic on tumblr of a similar premise (and obviously also inspired by the Benverly scene in canon)
> 
> Also, yes, I expanded the timeline slightly. I prefer Losers dynamics after years of friendship, so I couldn’t in good conscience do a Reddie thing of them falling for each other in like... 2 months of barely knowing each other. So I know the movie takes place at homecoming, not prom, but that’s my reasoning for changing it. Also I know Prom is mostly an upperclassmen endeavor, but eh.
> 
> Chapter title song: “Voices Carry” by ‘Til Tuesday


	4. Epilogue: I'll Stop the World and Melt with You

Eddie's relaxing in the clubhouse hammock when he hears the hatchet to the sanctum opening, and then the footsteps of someone climbing down the ladder. Startled, he transforms, immediately running to his usual dark corner that he hides in when the world is loud and scary.

Richie jumps down, setting his stereo down by the hammock and turns on his music. He stares at the flashlight, brow furrowed.

 _Damn it._ Like an idiot, he forgot to turn it off.

Richie shakes his head, clearly brushing it off as nothing. He switches the light off and climbs into the hammock, and as he lights up he glances down at himself with a self-satisfied expression for just a moment. He grabs a comic from the growing pile and begins to flip through. A few minutes go by, and Eddie is wondering just how long he's gonna have to stay like this before he can try to sneak out when Richie puts down his comic and calls out.

"Come out, Eds! I know you're there."

Eddie scampers out from the shadows, up onto a beam where he can be in Richie's line of vision. Without looking up, Richie reaches out a hand and scratches him. Eddie relaxes into Richie's touch. For a moment, they stay like this.

Richie eventually retracts his hand, and Eddie squeaks in protest. Richie glances up at him.

He quirks an eyebrow. "Wow, needy much?"

Eddie transforms back. "How—How did you know it was me?"

"Lucky guess. Or, well... it was more hoping than guessing, 'cause I saw the flashlight and knew someone was here. But then I heard adorable little footsteps and figured it was either you or the rats."

Eddie laughs softly, shaking his head. "It's me, Rich. It's me." He glances down at the hammock.

Richie rolls his eyes. "Let me guess, you want a turn?"

"Funny, how could you tell?" says Eddie with a mocking grin, already lifting a leg so that he can climb on in.

"Bet it'd be much more—hmph—comfortable if you shifted again," muses Richie, grunting when Eddie accidentally kicks him in the side.

Eddie ignores him, positioning himself so that his leg is draped over Richie's, keeping his foot away from his head. He may enjoy being a nuisance, but he can be considerate when he wants. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Having the hammock all to yourself."

"You'd get scritches," says Richie, reaching out to scratch playfully under Eddie's chin.

Eddie narrows his eyes. "Don't try to entice me. I don't want scritches," he says, but he allows Richie to go just a second too long before finally batting his hand away. "I want the hammock." He leans back and closes his eyes, settling in and doing his best to make himself comfortable.

"Why not?" says Richie. "This way we both win."

"Hmph." Reluctantly, Eddie opens one eye. "Well, I want what I want. By the way, reading in the dark is terrible for your eyes."

"You are such a pest."

"And?"

They sit in the hammock together, and Eddie just listens to the music Richie is playing on his stereo. He recognizes the song.

"'I Melt With You'?" says Eddie. "Didn't they play that at prom?"

"Yeah." Seeing Eddie's eyebrows shoot up, he adds, "It's been stuck in my head, alright?"

Eddie closes his eyes, allowing himself to just listen along to the song.

"Speaking of prom..." says Richie.

Eddie opens one eye. "Yeah?"

Richie's not looking at him. Instead, he's fiddling with the corner of his comic page. "That wasn't, like—a date, was it?"

"I—I dunno." He hadn't thought about it. For once, he'd forced himself to not recount the night over and over again in his head, questioning every interaction, every intention until there was nothing left to question. Eddie sits up, wringing his hands anxiously. "Do you want it to be one?"

Richie glances up at him. "I think so."

"Really?" says Eddie, for once not caring about how damn elated he sounds. "Me, too."

They sit in silence together.

"So…" says Richie.

"So…"

Now what?

"So. I have cute little legs, huh?" asks Eddie, unable to help himself from asking. His lips curl into an amused smile. Still, he's hoping it alleviates the tension, just a little bit. Why did there have to be so much pressure?

Riche flushes pink, burying his head in his comic and obscuring Eddie's view. "Don't let it go to your head," he mumbles. "All guinea pigs have cute little legs."

"Uh-huh. Sure, if you say so," he says, still smirking. Inside, he's giddy with delight. Eddie hesitates. "Can I tell you something?" he asks. He can be merciful and even the playing field.

Richie nods.

Eddie intertwines his fingers with Richie's. "I like your power," he murmurs, avoiding Richie's eyes and instead focusing on their interlocked hands. There's a faint glow radiating off his skin.

"What?" asks Richie, sounding like he's had the wind knocked out of him.

Eddie can feel his face growing warm. "I like it, ok? Don't make me say it again." He's still afraid to look up. He prattles on, as he always does when he's nervous. "There, you know something about me, I know something about you, we're even. I can't explain it, but it's—sincere.”

Eddie shakes his head. Not quite right. He tries again.

”No, that's not it, it's—more like—more like… You're sincere _about_ it, in a way that—that's rare for you. Like, you can crack all the jokes you want, but in the dark that's you, that's really just… _you_. I dunno, it's just nice, and I like it, and—and I like you."

"You mean it?" says Richie.

"Of course I do!" says Eddie. "Come on, dipshit, would I lie to you? It's stupid, but I—"

He finally feels brave enough to look Richie in the eye. The light emanating from him is faint, soft in the darkness of the clubhouse.

"I see how proud you are of it, no matter what people say—and you should be proud!" He blurts out the last part.

God, he sounds so fucking _earnest_ , he must look so stupid. He takes Richie's hand in both of his. The way the light catches in his hair, the way it makes his face alight so that Eddie can see everything. There's no way to describe it. But he tries.

"It's... beautiful, Rich."

Richie retracts his hand. "I—I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asks, his voice hushed. He blinks, mouth agape, disbelieving.

"It's beautiful," he says again, and he feels bolder, stronger in his convictions than ever. As though just by saying it, he can somehow compel Richie to believe it, too. " _You're_ beautiful, Richie."

For a moment, Richie doesn't speak.

Instead, he pushes his glasses up, wiping his eyes. "Fuck." His voice breaks.

Eddie reaches out a hand to comfort him—not a thought, an instinct. "Richie! What's wrong?"

"Eddie—Eds, you can't just—If you're fucking with me right now, it's a really weird joke." He laughs weakly, but his eyes are still glistening. He takes his glasses off so that he can properly brush away the yet unshed tears. "I know I have a shitty sense of humor, but—not you, too, ok? I—I don't _get_ to be beautiful."

"Oh, Richie, please don't—I-I'm being serious. One of us has gotta be, so I guess it's me. Don't you get it?"

Struck by a sudden impulse—something about Richie in the light, aching and vulnerable—Eddie leans forward, maybe to wipe his tears away, maybe to do something else entirely. The shift in weight causes the hammock to tip over, and the two of them fall out onto the ground. Hyper aware of the fact that he's laying on top of Richie, Eddie sits up right away. Richie grins up at him, letting a giggle slip, and the floodgates burst open and soon they're laughing together.

Richie leans up and kisses him—chaste, quick, over in a second.

Eddie freezes. His entire face is warm.

"Was that ok?" Richie bites his lip. Eddie doesn't answer. Richie sits up, propping his weight back on his elbows. "Fuck. Fuck, Eds, I—"

Eddie grabs Richie's face and kisses him like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

They part, slightly breathless. Neither of them moves, almost perfectly still, faces mere inches apart.

"Does that... clear up any confusion?" asks Eddie, voice low and husky, afraid to open his eyes. When he does, Richie is gazing up at him, adoring.

"You could say that," he croaks hoarsely.

"Richie… that night, the first time Bill invited us over to study? You remember, right?" he asks, still quiet. Barely above a whisper.

Richie nods slowly, as if in a trance.

"When I asked you if Bill was embarrassed to be friends with us—with _me_ …" He's shaking. Eddie takes a deep breath, trying to get his heart under control, trying and failing to not care what Richie is gonna think of him. He can't even bear to look at him. "It—It wasn't _just_ because I'm a sidekick. It's because I'm—I'm..."

His voice breaks, unable to finish the sentence.

"Eds." It's one word, but his voice has never sounded so sincere, so _kind_.

He feels Richie's hand brush his cheek, cupping his face in his hand and tilting his chin so that Eddie has to look him in the eye.

"What?" he snaps, harsher than Richie deserves, but he's too fragile to keep his emotions in check. Something about Richie makes him feel exposed, vulnerable—like he can really _see_ him. He blinks, attempting to stymie the tears welling up in his eyes.

"It's _ok_."

Eddie sniffs. He's feeling a little light-headed, so he rolls over so that he's lying on the floor of the sanctum beside Richie.

They stare up at the ceiling together.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" asks Eddie.

"You wanna know something?" asks Richie, voice barely above a murmur.

Eddie turns his head to look at Richie. Richie's eyes meet his, the corner of his mouth upturns in a small smile—playful, but warm and reassuring.

Eddie nods. "What?"

Richie smiles weakly. "I have the most useless power in the universe."

"Richie, you don't—"

"No, I'll admit it. Everyone has just been waiting for me to finally admit it. Well, here it is! I have the world's worst power!" He laughs a shaky laugh. "There!" He breathes a sigh of relief. He mutters, "Now maybe people will stop acting like I'm some deluded child.”

"You're not a child, Richie, and you don't have the world's worst anything. People just give you a harder time than you deserve because you don't hate yourself like a sidekick should. They don't know how to react."

Richie is quiet.

"For what it's worth, I don't think you're useless. At least you don't turn into a guinea pig."

"Are you kidding? That's fucking amazing! Eddie, you're _amazing_ …" His gaze is adoring. "Me? I'm a sentient glow-stick. You know what I am, Eddie? I'm a lava lamp."

"So?" says Eddie. "People like lava lamps!"

Richie bursts out laughing. "Thanks, Eds."

"And you are helpful! If it weren't for you, we'd still be lost in the fucking vents." Eddie cards the collar of Richie's button-up between his fingers. "Anyway, why does a power have to be useful at all? Is it not enough for it to just… be?"

"I dunno." Richie stares up at the ceiling again. "I guess it shouldn't be a big deal, but sometimes you wanna feel important, too, ya know? I'm tired of being a disappointment." He sighs. "Maybe it's stupid, but I don't want to be nobody."

"You're not nobody!" says Eddie, nearly jumping up in indignation. "You're Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier! You brighten my day, even when the lights are on—literally—figuratively—all of it, I—I don't know. Is that not important, or significant, or whatever?"

"Alright, alright, Kaspbrak. You've made your point."

"Oh. Well, good," says Eddie, and he lays back down. He half-expected it to devolve into more bickering because that's what they always do. They bicker.

Not this time. This time, they sit in silence.

"You know," says Eddie after a while, "You don't get a lot of superpowered comedians out there. You could really corner the market."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. You'd kill."

Eddie takes Richie's hand. Only in the silence does he realize that the music is still playing.

"Do you wanna dance?" asks Eddie, not quite sure what prompts him to ask.

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

No answer. He can feel his heart pounding. For some reason, the answer feels important.

Richie sits up. "What, you didn't get enough at prom?" he asks, eyebrow quirked as he grins impishly.

Eddie laughs. "I told you. With the right partner…" He leaves the words hanging.

In the dark, swaying off-tempo to the music, Richie looks properly beautiful.

Later that night Eddie shifts, curling up on Richie's chest. Eddie makes himself cozy while Richie, eyes closed, smiles to himself as he pets Eddie's fur. Together, they rock to sleep in the hammock. He can worry about the repercussions later.

Screw being a speedster. Why run when he could stay right here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a long time to write and was a lot of work, so comments & feedback are appreciated and if you leave one then I love you!
> 
> Chapter title song: obviously “I Melt With You” by Modern English
> 
> If you like, you can follow me on my IT blog on tumblr: @hanbroughrights
> 
> Or at my main: @zagenta (lol yeah that’s a sky high reference)


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